'""""■  ' '"  ' '  "'  "'IIhound 


IIRMAN  PEEPw 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


THE 

HUNTING    FIELD 

WITH    HORSE   AND   HOUND 

in  America^  the  British  Isles 
and  France 


BY 

FRANK    SHERMAN    PEER 


Illustrated  from  paintings  by 

JULIAN    INGERSOLL   CHAMBERLAIN 

and  from  photographs 


MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 
NEW  YORK  MCMX 


Copyright  igio  by 
Mitchell  Kennerley 


TO  MY  SON  SHERAIJ.X 

WITH  FOND  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  GLORIOUS 

DAYS  IFE  HAVE  ENJOYED   TOGETHER 

HUNTING,  SHOOTING,   YACHTING 

AND  BOATING 


CONTENTS 


Preface 


PART    I 

HUNTING    IN    AMERICA 

I   Fox   Hunting  in  America  17 

History  of  fox  hunting — Introduction  of  English  fox- 
hounds—  Private  packs — Brunswick  Fur  Club — The  Nor- 
folk—  The  Middlesex  —  The  Meadowbrook  —  The  War- 
renion  country — The  Rose  Tree  Hunt 

II   Fox   Hunting  in  the  Sunny  South  3J 

Hunting  dogs  in  the  South — Politics  and  fox  hunting  — 
Visiting  a  Southern  plantation  —  A  Southern  sportsman  of 
the  old  school  —  Jim 

III  A   North   Carolina   Fox   Hunt  by   Moonlight         43 
The  meet  —  A  little  gossip  on  the  way  to  covert — Bcfo' 
the  wah — Jim's  account  of  the  chase  —  Old  Rastus  —  The 
glory  of  Old  Ginger — A  mint  julep 


jvi31  r^006 


ii  Contents 

PAGE 

IV   Fox   Hunting  in    New   England  56 

Uncle  Abner  —  A  genuine  sportsman  of  the  real  old  sort — 
Two  famous  bird  dogs — A  sail  —  Shooting  the  fox — 
Apples  and  cider 

V  With  Horse  and  Hounds  on  the  Western  Plains     65 
Jack   Rabbit — Coyote  and    wolf    hunting  —  The   sporting 
parson  —  Western  ways  —  A  thoroughbred  sportsman 

VI  Jack   Rabbit   Hunting  with   Greyhounds  72 

"In  the  beginning" — Messrs.  Bartel  Brothers'  famous 
pack — The  most  beautiful  dog  show  on  earth  —  Coyote 
hunting  at  Colorado  Springs 

VII  Coyote   Hunting  on  the   Plains  of  Colorado  83 

The  great  plains  at  sunrise  —  Ranch  life  —  The  antelope 
chase  —  The  old  cattleman  —  A  good  shot — The  ride  of 
the  tenderfoot — Roping  a  coyote 

VIII  The   Genesee  Valley  97 

The  valley  itself  —  Nature  of  the  land  hunted  over  —  The 
natives — Why  they  love  the  valley  —  A  visit  to  the  kennels 

IX  A  Day  with  the  Genesee  Valley   Hounds  109 

The  meet  at  Belwood— The  Hunt  breakfast  —  The 
Covert — Seven  Gullies — Who-whoop 

X   Hunting  in  Canada  117 

Plenty  of  sport — Our  neighbours  —  A  Canadian  sports- 
man—  Yachting  —  The  Toronto  Hunt  Club  —  Women 
riders  — A  sportsman's  paradise 


Contents  ix 

PAGE 

PART   II 
HUNTING    IN    THE    BRITISH    ISLES 

XI  Hunting  in   England  125 

Packs  of  hounds  —  HuntiriE  Centres  —  Cost  —  Grass 
countries  —  Racing  packs— Foxes — Where  to  go — National 
characteristics 

XII  A   Day  with  the   Belvoir   Foxhounds  136 

The  Peacock  Inn  — Belvoir  Castle  — Belvoir  Kennels- 
Noted  huntsmen — Perfection  in  hound  breeding  —  Ben 
Capell 

XIII  Two   Days  with  the  Quorn   (First   Day)  148 

The  famous  grass  countries — Hunting  centres — Railway 
travel — The  Bay  Mare  Inn  —  Hiring  a  hunter — A  blank  day 

XIV  Two   Days  with  the  Quorn   (Second  Day)  195 

Richard  the  Bay  — The  meet—  The  chase— The  brook- 
Colonel  Richardson 

XV  The   Royal   Buckhounds  169 

King  Edward  III  —  Queen  Anne  —  The  Church  and  the 
Chase  —  The  meet  at  Ascot — The  great  assemblage  — 
Queen  Victoria  —  The  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales 

XVI  A  Day  with  Lord  Rothschild's  Staghounds         179 
New  Year's  Eve   in   London — The  fog — The   meet  — 
The  crated  stag  —  Enlarging  the  stag  —  The  chase  —  The 
capture 


Contents 

PAGE 

XVII  The  Chase  of  the  Wild  Red  Deer  in  Devonshire   191 
The   Devon  and    Somerset  Staghounds — Lorna   Doone's 
country  —  The    Quantock    Hills  —  The    meet  —  Anthony 
Huxtable  —  The  Tufters — The  Chase  —  Taking  the  deer 
— A  long  ride  home 

XVIII  The   Chase  of  the   Hare  203 

The  hare — The  old  and  the  new  school  methods  —  Long 
live  the  Chase — Foot  Harriers 

XIX  Foot   Beagles  212 

School  and  College  Foot  Beagles — The  Delapre  Hall 
Beagles — A  day  with  an  Oxford  College  "Cry" — Com- 
parison of  English  and  American  college  sports 

XX  Otter   Hunting  226 

The  otter — Nature  of  the  game  —  The  otterhound  — 
His  great  courage  and  endurance 

XXI  A   Day  with  the   Essex  Otterhounds  235 

The  meet — The  terriers — Hound  music  —  A  great  day's 
sport  —  Love-making  —  How  English  sportsmen  are  ac- 
counted for — Tally-ho  otter — The  obliging  millers 

XXII   Fox   Hunting  in   Ireland  246 

The  Irish  hunter  —  His  breeding  and  schooling— The 
great  Dublin  Horse  Show —  Buying  a  hunter 


xxi: 


A  Day  with  the   Meath   Hounds  253 

Tipperary  —  Difficulties  on  the  way — An  exciting  drive — 
The  meet — In  an  Irish  bog — A  couple  of  lost  souls 


Contents  xi 


PAGE 


XXIV  Fox  Hunting  in  Scotland  263 

A  day  with  Farmer  McDougal  — A  bit  of  Scotch  humour- 
Wee  McDougal — A  few  Scotch  stories — Too  late  for  the 
meet— The  race  of  his  life  —  Bonnie  Scotland  forever 


PART   III 
HUNTING    IN    FRANCE 

XXV   Hunting   in   France  279 

The    nature    of    the    game— Baron    de    Dorlodot  —  The 
kennels — The  Forest  of  Senouches 

XXVI  The  Chase  of  the  Wild  Boar  287 

Locating  the   game — The   covert  side — The  start — The 
chase — Hallali! — The  ceremony 

XXVII  Wild  Stag  Hunting  in  France  294 

A  day  with  the  Marquis  de  Cornulier's  French  hounds — 
Taking  the  stag  in  a  lake  —  A  most  exciting  day's  sport 

XXVIII  A  Day  with  the  Marquis  de  Chambray's  Hounds  299 
The  white  hounds  of  the  King  — Starting  the  lordly  stag — 
A  Percheron  stallion  in  harness — Hallali!    Hallali!  —  The 
1908th  stag — In  defence  of  the  chase 

Ride,  Fair  American:  Englishman,  Ride  316 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


TACE 


At   Bay  in    Horner  Water Frontispiece 

A.   Henry   Higginson,   Esq.,   M.F.H 20 

R.   N.   Ellis,  Esq.,   M.F.H 22 

The   late   P.   F.   Collier,    Esq 24 

Mr.    P.    F.    Collier's   staghounds 24 

Mrs.  James   K.    Maddux  on   Torchlight        26 

The  meet         3° 

The   Meadowhrook   hounds 30 

Col.  J.   Chinn  and   Mr.   H.   S.  Walker 36 

The  two  colonels 44 

Uncle  Abner's   novel   fox   hunt •      ....  60 

Colonel    Roosevelt 7° 

Almost 76 

Mr.   Nichols'   Greyhounds:   the   meet 80 

Poor   Mr.   Coyote 84 


XIV 


List   of    Illustrations 


PACE 

The  author  with  the  first  kill 84 

In   Colorado:   the  meet 84 

Ready   to  start 88 

Croesus 88 

After  the  kill 88 

Mr.   E.  J.   Cameron  with  a  roped  coyote 94 

Mr.   Petrie's   hounds:   the  kill 94 

Major  W.  A.   Wadsworth,   M.F.H 102 

Mr.    Herbert  Wadsworth's   home 104 

Future  hunters  and   their  dams        104 

A  meet  on   the  lawn iio 

Major  Wadsworth's   home iio 

Dr.   F.   J.   Capon 118 

The   Montreal    Kennels 118 

The  Toronto  pack 120 

Sir  Gilbert   Greenall,   M.F.H 138 

The   Duke  of  Rutland 140 

A  crush  to  get  through 142 

Ben   Capell,   Huntsman 142 


List   of    Illustrations  xv 

Belvoir  Castle 146 

Relvoir   Dexter 146 

Puppies 15^^ 

The  Quorn   Pack 150 

The   Karl   of  Lonsdale,   M.P\H 156 

A   meet  at   Kirby   Gate 162 

The  field   moving  off 162 

Richard   the   Bay  at  the  brook 166 

Lord   Rothschild   and   Mr.    Leopold  de   Rothschild     .      .      .180 

John    Boore,   Huntsman 188 

Giving   the  stag  "law" 188 

The   Devon  and  Somerset  staghounds 192 

Opening  meet   near   Minehead 196 

Delapr6  Abbey   foot  beagles        214 

Cambridge   University  "cry" 220 

l-.ton     foot  beagles 224 

Otterhounds 228 

Huntsman  leading  the  pack 232 

The   Essex  Otterhounds 232 

Trying  a   likely   stream 238 


xvi  List   of    Illustration 


PAGE 


Helping  the  ladies  across 238 

The   Master  and   his  pack 242 

Catching  the  scent 242 

The  kill 244 

Terriers   hanging  from   otter    .      .  244 

Baron  de   Dorlodot 278 

The   Boarhounds 280 

The   Dorlodot   Hunt 282 

Ready  for  the  chase 284 

The  return   of  the  hunt 28S 

The  grey   boar's  last  stand 290 

Singing  the  death  song 292 

The   Marquis   de   Cornulier's   Staghounds 294 

Stag  taking  to  water 296 

Waiting  for  the  end 298 

The   Marquis   de  Chambray 300 

A    meet  in   the  forest 302 

Hounds  ready   to   be  slipped 304 

Waiting 306 

After  the  death 308 

Blessing  the  hounds 312 


PREFACE 

Blessed  be  the  thoughts  and  recollections 
That  drive  the  ills  and  cares  of  life  away. 
While  they  bring  again  serene  reflections 
Of  all  the  joys  we  had  along  the  way. 

CROSS  Country  with  Horse  and  Hound"  has  proved  a 
liappy  (hsappointnient,  especially  to  the  author. 
There  heing  but  few  hunt  clubs  in  America,  it  was  argued 
that  there  were  comparatively  few  who  were  personally 
interested  in  cross  country  riding  to  hounds;  it  was  therefore 
wth  some  misgivings  that  the  book  was  brought  to  light. 
The  effort,  however,  has  received  such  hearty  endorsement 
from  the  reading  public  in  general,  and  has  had  such  pleasant 
things  said  about  it  by  the  hunting  fraternity  in  particular, 
both  in  England  and  America,  that  the  writing  of  this  second 
woi-k  has  become  doubly  enjoyable.  It  may  be  said  to  have 
been  undertaken  in  response  to  an  encore. 

Next  to  a  cross  country  ride  itself,  comes  the  pleasure  of 
living  it  over  again  \\\W\  whoever  has  the  ear  for  hearing  it,  and 
an  imagination  keen  enough  to  supply  what  neither  pen  nor 
pencil  is  able  to  produce. 

There  seems  to  be  born  in  every  man  a  taste  for  country 
hfe  and  in  most  men  a  love  for  the  chase.  We  probably 
inherit  our  longing  for  the  fields  from  our  mother  Eve,  whose 
desire  to  return  to  the  garden  must  have  been  very  great, 
so  great  in  fact,  that  the  world  will  never  stand  long  enough 
to  see  it  eradicated  from  the  system  of  her  descendants. 
It  is  from  the  "old  man"  perhaps,  who  was  obliged  to  hunt 
for  a  living  after  losing  his  farm,  that  we  inherit  a  desire  for 


10  Preface 

the  chase.  This  taste  for  country  hfe  and  the  chase  is,  in 
many  cases  no  doubt,  lying  dormant  in  the  system.  It  simply 
needs  awakening  to  inoculate  the  whole  being  with  an  insa- 
tiable thirst  for  the  field,  the  wood,  the  chase. 

The  kindly  reception  of  "Cross  Country  Avith  Horse  and 
Hound"  would  indicate  that  many  a  soul  is  tuned  to  the 
melody  of  hound  music,  and  the  spirit  of  the  chase,  that  never 
heard  the  one,  nor  participated  in  the  other.  No  author  can 
have  greater  pleasure  than  the  thought  that  in  many  such  he 
may  have  awakened  a  sentiment  that  will  burn  with  a  will. 
If  so,  the  sequel  is  near  at  hand,  for  where  there  is  a  will  the 
way  is  not  far  of  finding;  if  not  in  whole,  in  part.  Hunting, 
j-achting,  shooting,  fishing,  it  will  surely  find  a  vent  somewhere 
and  somehow. 

"The  Hunting  Field  with  Horse  and  Hound"  is  really 
volume  No.  II  to  "Cross  Country  with  Horse  and  Hound." 

It  is  the  hope  of  tliis  volume,  as  it  was  of  the  one  preceding 
it,  to  encourage  a  love  for  country  life,  to  create  anew  in  many 
dormant  natures,  a  taste  for  manly  games  of  sport,  especially 
for  men  after  they  have  left  school  and  college,  and  also  to  pro- 
mote the  chase,  that  "noble  science,"  formerly  called  the  sport 
of  Kings,  but  which  may  nowadays  more  properlj'  be  styled 
the  King  of  sports. 

Not  alone  is  it  the  object  of  this  book  to  hunt  with  horse 
and  hound  in  different  lands.  A  fox  chase,  for  instance,  is  a 
fox  chase  the  world  over,  and  if  all  there  was  to  fox  hunting 
came  out  in  the  chase,  the  description  of  a  single  run  would 
answer  the  purpose,  all  the  others  being  fox  chases  ditto.  The 
interest  found  in  fox  hunting  Avith  the  difi'erent  packs  of 
liounds  and  in  different  countries  we  shall  take  the  reader  to 
visit,  lies  principallj'  in  the  peojile  and  not  in  the  game  or  the 
hounds.  Especially  is  tliis  true  of  fox  hunting  in  the  New 
England  states  and  the  sunny  South,  while  in  Ireland  and 
Scotland  we  must  not  miss  tlie  native  sparkle  of  the  one  nor 


Preface  11 

the  delightful  humour  of  the  other.  If  the  writer  shall  succeed 
in  transmitting  to  tiiese  ])ages  the  spirit  of  the  chase,  the  hreath 
of  the  fields  and  the  aroma  of  the  forest,  and  shall  uncover 
sufficiently  the  hearts  of  some  of  the  true  and  nohle  sportsmen 
it  has  heen  his  good  fortune  to  meet,  tliis  work  will  have 
accomplished  its  jnu-pose.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  can  he  read 
without  leaving  in  the  reader's  mind  anything  beyond  a  ride  on 
horseback  while  racing  after  a  fox,  or  other  game,  then  is  the 
writer's  failure  c()m])lcte. 

Past  masters  in  the  art  and  science  of  hunting  will  please 
bear  in  mind  that  the  writer  is  but  an  amateur,  and  that  he 
comes,  not  to  save  the  men  and  women  who  are  already  in  the 
field,  but  to  convert  the  heathen,  to  preach  the  gospel  of  true 
sport  and  genuine  sportsmanship,  and  to  hunt  for  the  real 
joys  to  be  found  in  hunting;  viz.,  pleasure,  health,  strength, 
and  long  life,  which  are  vouchsafed  to  all  who  worship  at 
its  shrine. 

Hunting  is  about  the  only  stimulant  that  leaves  no  scar. 
It  is  about  the  only  indulgence  to  which  we  may  tiu'n,  that 
does  not  come  back  to  plague  and  torment  us;  it  is  the  best 
remedy  tlirough  manhood  and  age,  that  can  be  rehed  on  to 
lighten  the  heart,  drive  away  sorrow  and  fortify  us  against 
the  disappointments  of  life,  and  to  postpone  to  the  latest 
possible  date  the  sending  of  our  wills  to  probate. 

In  recording  herein  the  accoimts  of  some  glorious  days 
with  horse  and  hound,  as  they  still  live  in  the  recollection  of 
the  author,  he  has  selected  such  as  give  the  greatest  variety 
to  the  chase,  both  at  home  and  abroad.  The  account  of  the 
two  days  with  the  Quorn,  and  a  day  with  the  Devon  and 
Somerset  staghounds  in  England,  have  appeared  in  the 
"Country  Gentleman"  and  "Rider  and  Driver."  Portions  of 
the  other  chapters  have  appeared  in  "Harper's  Weekly"  and 
the  "Sporting  Illustrated  Xews."  By  kind  permission  of  the 
editors,  they  are  ^rith  slight  modification  reproduced  herewith. 


12  Preface 

The  day  with  the  Genesee  Valley  hounds  is,  in  reality,  part  of 
the  three  days'  sport.  All  other  days  are  faithful  records  of 
the  chase,  with  the  hounds  ridden  to,  with  possibly  the  least 
bit  of  colour  now  and  again  in  connecting  the  events.  The  work 
is  believed  to  cover  every  class  of  game  ridden  to  with  hounds, 
besides  foot  beagles,  foot  harriers  and  otterhounds. 

Again  the  writer  takes  pleasure  in  calling  upon  his  old 
friend,  W.  Phillpotts  Williams,  for  liberal  quotations  from  his 
delightful  "Poems  in  Pink"  and  "Rhymes  in  Red,"  and  the 
immortal  Somervile,  who  so  often  came  to  the  writer's  rescue 
in  his  former  volume,  when  his  own  pen  was  "up  a  stump"  for 
the  right  thing  to  sny. 

Some  of  the  chapters  wliich  stand  next  to  each  other  in  this 
book  were  written  fifteen  years  apart,  most  of  them  were 
thrashed  out  during  the  time  spent  in  ocean  crossings  between 
1891  and  1906.  This  probably  accounts  for  some  chapters 
having  a  list  to  port  and  others  to  starboard,  while  still  others 
alternately  head  for  the  bottom  of  the  sea  or  a  star  at  meridian. 
They  may  be  like  a  clock,  the  great  temperance  lecturer,  John 
B.  Gough,  was  fond  of  telling  about,  i.  e.,  when  its  hands 
pointed  to  twenty  minutes  past  eleven  and  it  struck  four  "the 
owner"  said  he  "knew  it  was  just  one  o'clock."  So  with  these 
chapters,  it  matters  little  where  they  point  or  how  they  strike, 
as  long  as  the  reader  understands  they  point  to  clean  sport  and 
strike  for  true  sportsmanship. 

It  is  with  great  pleasure  that  the  author  is  able  to  present 
herewith  six  full  page  reproductions  of  oil  paintings,  done 
especially  to  illustrate  the  text,  by  the  clever  horse  and  hound 
artist,  Juhan  Ingersoll  Chamberlain.  Whatever  may  be  said 
for  or  against  their  artistic  merit,  all  hunting  men  will  enjoy 
them  for  their  true  hunting  spirit  and  the  life-like  action  of 
both  horses  and  hounds.  To  the  numerous  Masters  of  hounds, 
clever  huntsmen  and  brother  sportsmen  both  at  home  and 
abroad,  who  have  done  so  much  to  make  this  volume  possible, 


Preface  13 

the  writer  simply  goes  into  bankruptcy ;  his  debts  of  gratitude 
can  never  be  paid. 

It  is  singular  in  looking  back  over  the  twenty  odd  years 
which  tliis  and  the  previous  volume  cover,  how  all  the  "blank 
days,  all  the  cold,  rainy,  disagreeable  days,"  are  quite  for- 
gotten, the  days  when  for  some  unaccountable  reason  we 
were  unable  to  get  on  good  terms  with  our  mount,  the  days 
when  we  had  to  work  our  passage  from  start  to  finish  of  the 
run,  steering  or  trying  to,  some  hard-mouthed  ill-humoured 
brute. 

Yes,  it  is  singular  how  these  unpleasant,  these  disagreeable 
days  are  quite  forgotten,  and  that  it  is  only  the  best  and  really 
glorious  days  that  live  on  to  cheer  and  brighten.  This  is  just 
as  it  should  be.  It  is  such  days  as  are  herein  recorded  that 
make  the  blood  canter  again  at  the  sound  of  galloping  hoofs. 
It  is  the  recollection  of  such  days  as  these  that  in  spite  of 
grey  hairs  and  rheumatic  twitches^makes  one  feel  all  over 
young  again.  iVn  affection  for  the  chase,  especially  riding  to 
hounds,  invariably  deepens  in  the  hearts  of  most  hunting  men 
with  increasing  years,  until  the  sight  of  a  matronly-looking 
mare  makes  them  quite  as  solicitous  as  a  father  for  his  ex- 
pectant first-born,  while  a  foal  at  foot  of  their  favourite  himt- 
ing  mare  makes  them  as  foolish  as  a  grandfather  in  his  dotage. 
The  author  does  not  speak  from  personal  experience  of  this 
latter  condition,  but  he  feels  it  coming  on,  and  judging  from 
those  who  have  gone  this  way  before  him,  he  is  getting  there 
all  too  fast. 

Well,  let  it  come  and  may  the  setting  sun  shed  its  parting 
light  on  no  meaner  or  less  cheery  picture  than  recollections 
of  "The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound." 


PART  I 
HUNTING  IN  AMERICA 


To 

Maj.  W.  A.  Wadsworth, 

M.  F.  H.    Genesee  Valley  Hunt. 

'Hold  hard  for  a  moment,  the  hounds  are  collecting. 
Old  Benedict  speaks,  how  they  fly  to  his  cry! 
The  thought  of  the  chase  all  our  senses  inflecting. 
We  wait  in  the  hopes  of  a  sweet  by  and  by." 

Poems  in  Pink. 


FOX  HUNTING  IN  AMERICA 

HISTORY    OF   FOX    HUNTING INTRODUCTION    OF   ENGLISH    FOX- 
HOUNDS  PRIVATE    PACKS — BRUNSWICK    FUR    CLUB — THE 

NORFOLK — THE      MIDDLESEX — THE      MR(U)OWBROOK — THE 
WARRENTON  COUNTRY — THE  ROSE  TREE  HUNT, 

T^OX  hunting  in  America  began — well,  to  be  accurate,  "In 
■'•  the  beginning,"  or  as  the  old  time  historians  were  fond 
of  saying,  "at  a  time  in  the  history  of  the  nation  to  which 
the  memory  of  man  runneth  not  contrary."  If  foxhounds  did 
not  come  over  in  the  Mayflower,  it  was  very  soon  after.  At 
any  rate  they  were  introduced  into  Virginia  by  the  earhest  set- 
tlers. British  army  officers  brought  hounds  with  them  to  this 
country,  as  they  have  done  to  every  other  country  to  which  they 
have  been  sent,  whether  their  mission  was  one  of  peace  or  Avar. 

!Many  persons  in  both  the  southern  and  New  England 
states  are  fond  of  repeating  to  this  day  famih'  traditions 
to  the  effect  that  some  progenitor  at  some  time  brought,  or  had 
sent  over,  to  this  country,  a  few  English  foxhounds,  or  "hunt- 
ing dogs"  as  they  were  generally  termed. 

In  England  they  originally  hunted  with  mixed  packs.  The 
southern  or  bloodhound,  that  hunted  entirely  by  scent,  was 
depended  upon  to  drive  or  follow  the  chase  in  the  thicket, 
while  the  speedier  greyhound,  which  runs  entirely  by  sight, 
took  a  hand  when  the  game  was  driven  into  the  open.  The 
crossing  of  these  two  ancient  families  with  a  view  of  producing 
a  combination  dog  with  speed,  nose  and  tongue,  developed  the 
present  English  foxhound  which,  at  the  time  of  the  first  im- 
portations to  this  country,  must  have  been  a  family  with 
anything  but  a  fixed  type. 

This  country  was  so  large  and  people  lived  at  such  great 


18         Tlie  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

distances  apart,  that  instead  of  packs  of  hounds  being  hunted 
by  organised  clubs,  individual  ownership  became  the  rule. 

This  individual  ownership  of  hounds  in  America  is  still  the 
rule,  except  on  special  days  like  Thanksgiving,  election  day, 
Christmas  or  New  Year's,  when  all  the  neighbouring  hounds 
are  brought  in  to  some  town  or  farm  agreed  upon  for  a  general 
hunt  to  be  followed  by  a  dinner,  or  a  dance,  or  both. 

There  are,  of  course,  a  good  number  of  organised  packs 
of  hounds  in  America,  hunting  with  either  English  or  Amer- 
ican hounds,  that  hunt  on  regular  days  throughout  the  season 
after  the  English  custom,  but  the  great  fraternity  of  fox 
hunters  in  America  are  confined  to  private  or  individual  packs, 
which  probably  number  among  the  thousands.  Then  there 
are  a  few  semi-organised  packs  that  are  hunted  with  some 
regularity  and  are  somewhat  under  control  of  an  appointed 
<j>r  recognised  huntsman,  as  in  Lexington,  Kentucky.  I  refer 
to  that  most  prominent  hound  breeder  of  the  blue  grass 
comitry.  Col.  Roger  WiUiams.  When  his  pack  goes  out  and 
is  heard  giving  tongue,  every  hound  from  every  plantation 
within  hearing  joins  in  by  liis  own  invitation  (of  course  he  is 
w^elcomed),  and  although  his  indejjendent  methods  of  hunting 
make  liim  an  ungovernable  member  of  the  pack, — 

"He  joins  the  glad  throng 
That  go  racing  along. 
For  he  must  go  hunting  to-day." 

Next  to  Kentucky,  there  is  probably  no  keener  lot  of  fox 
hunting  men  than  is  to  be  found  in  New  England.  The  casual 
observer  would  never  suspect  it,  but  a  httle  inquiry  among  the 
rival  towns  will  show  that  "the  woods  are  full  of  it." 

Among  the  organised  hunt  clubs  of  New  England  the 
Brunswick  Fur  Club,  an  organisation  that  was  started  as  an  an- 
nual fox  hunt,  but  of  late  years  has  come  to  be  a  hound  show  with 


Fo.r  II Hilling  in  America  19 

field  trials,  brings  together  a  very  large  number  of  fox  hunters, 
hound  breeders  and  fanciers  with  representative  hounds  of  \m- 
vate  packs  from  Virginia,  Kentucky  and  even  South  Carolina. 

The  Norfolk  Hunt  at  INIedficld,  JNIassachusetts,  is  one  of 
the  smartest  up  to  date  hvnit  clubs  of  New  England.  The 
genial  ]\I.  F.  H.,  jNIr.  Henry  Vaughan  of  Boston,  has  devoted 
much  personal  attention  to  the  organisation  and  the  building 
of  a  very  attractive  club  house.  A  better  stud  of  high  class 
heavy  weight  hunters  it  would  be  hard  to  find  in  any  American 
Hunt.  JNIr.  Vaughan  hunts  a  drag  pack,  also  a  wild  fox  pack, 
so  there  is  something  doing  nearly  all  the  time.  The  hunts- 
man is  a  man  of  great  experience  in  kennel  management  and 
a  nailer  to  follow  when  hunting  the  hounds.  The  hunt  is  over 
rough  stone  walls  and  timber  coimtry. 

The  JSIyopia  Hunt  at  Wenham  is  to  Boston  what  the 
INIeadowbrook  is  to  New  York.  The  writer  has  no  personal 
knowledge  of  this  club,  but  its  reputation  has  gone  far  and 
wide,  especially  as  one  of  the  wealthiest  hunt  clubs  in  America, 
and  as  "money  makes  the  mare  go"  they  have  certain  ad- 
vantages perhaps  over  their  less  favoured  rivals. 

The  writer's  ideal  sportsman  is  the  man  or  woman  who 
knows  the  game  from  A  to  Z.  He  would  eliminate  ever\' 
pastime  from  the  list  of  sports  that  did  not  begin  and  end  in 
the  skill  and  prowess  of  the  sportsman  liimself.  A  man  who 
rides  liis  own  racehorses  is  a  sportsman,  the  man  who  races 
horses  with  a  jockey  may  be  a  sport,  but  he  is  no  nearer  to 
being  a  sportsman  than  a  person  who  pumps  a  pianola  is  to 
being  a  musician.  The  man  who  sails  his  own  yacht  is  a  sports- 
man, the  man  who  togs  out  in  yachting  clothes,  because  he  has 
a  steam  launch  and  a  hired  man  to  run  it,  may  pass  for  a  yachts- 
man, but  not  for  a  sportsman.  jNIotoring,  except  racing 
between  owners  who  drive  their  own  cars,  may  be  called  recrea- 
tion, but  it  is  too  much  of  a  tax  on  imagination  to  call  it  sport 
or  the  owners  sportsmen. 


20         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

It  must  not  be  inferred  from  the  above  that  there  are  no 
genuine  sportsmen  among  wealthy  Americans.  While  wealth 
seems  to  be  a  great  handicap  to  sportsmanship,  many  men  in 
our  country  are  justly  entitled  to  the  distinction  in  spite  of 
wealth,  and  furthermore,  the  writer  believes  the  hunting  field 
affords  more  numerous  examples  of  tliis  than  any  other 
American  sport. 

For  instance,  the  blood  of  some  good  old  British  sportsman, 
after  lying  dormant  for  many  years,  has  lately  come  to  life 
with  the  freshness  of  sj^ring  in  the  person  of  Mr.  A.  Henry 
Higginson,  Master  of  the  Middlesex  Hunt,  who  resides  at 
South  Lincoln,  some  eighteen  miles  west  of  Boston,  Mass.  Mr. 
Higginson  is  not  only  the  proud  possessor  of  one  of  the  best 
packs  of  English  Foxhounds  in  America,  but  better  still,  he 
has  caught  the  true  spirit  of  hound  breeding  and  has  given  the 
subject  his  jjersonal  attention.  Beginning  some  ten  years  ago, 
Mr.  Higginson  tried  many  experiments  with  beagles  until  in 
1903  he  felt  ready  to  undertake  the  main  object  he  had 
always  had  in  view,  the  formation  of  a  really  A  K'o.  1  pack  of 
hounds. 

The  Middlesex  Hunt  is  favoured  Avith  a  good  class  of 
landowners,  who  welcome  the  riders  and  hounds  over  their 
fields.  A  gamekeeper  is  employed  who  spends  much  of  his 
time  in  looking  after  the  young  foxes  that  are  raised  in  the 
Middlesex  territory  and  in  stopping  their  earths  prior  to  a 
day's  hunting.  Tliis  makes  it  possible  to  kill,  and  this  is 
essential,  for  it  is  certainly  very  discouraging  to  hounds,  if  not 
to  riders,  to  go  out  day  after  day  and  season  after  season  for 
this  purpose  and  never  to  accomplish  it. 

If  you  want  a  good  time  all  the  time,  pay  a  visit  to  the 
Middlesex  Kennels.  A  walk  and  talk  with  Cotesworth,  the 
huntsman,  when  he  goes  out  to  exercise  the  pack  or  when 
feeding  his  forty  odd  couples  of  most  promising  puppies,  will 
sui'ely  be  accounted  a  treat,  for  there  is  probably  not  a  better 


A.   HENRY  HIGGINSON  ESQ.,   M. 


Fox  Hunting  in  America  21 

posted  or  more  experienced  huntsman  and  hound  breeder  in 
America.  It  is  a  well  grounded  notion  in  America  that  we 
cannot  breed  foxhounds  with  the  bone,  style  and  carriage  as 
seen  in  England.  This,  as  the  writer  has  always  maintained,  is 
a  mistake,  and  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to  see  the  success  that  Cotes- 
worth  is  having  in  developing  these  qualities  at  the  ^Middlesex 
Kennels.  It  is  also  most  gratifying  to  know  that  the  Amer- 
ican-bred hounds  from  imported  Enghsh  sires  and  dams  are 
showing  a  greater  inclination  to  work  out  a  cold  line  than  either 
their  sires  or  dams.  This  goes  to  prove  quite  conclusively  that 
it  is  possible  that  the  fault  with  the  English  hounds  brought 
to  tliis  country  is  not  so  much  a  question  of  nose  which  prevents 
their  following  a  cold  line,  but  indifference  or  lack  of  inclina- 
tion to  hunt  such  a  line.  Of  course  it  amounts  to  the  same 
tiling,  so  far  as  producing  results,  but  the  writer  has  long  been 
of  the  opinion  that  it  is  not  so  much  the  noses  of  English-bred 
hounds  that  are  at  fault,  as  that  never  having  been  called  upon 
to  do  such  plodding  work  in  England  as  is  necessary  in  this 
country,  they  quit,  not  because  they  cannot  follow  the  line, 
but  because  they  won't. 

"We  are  offered  a  good  illustration  of  tliis  at  JMiddlesex. 
The  hounds  bred  there  from  English  parents  work  with  more 
persistency  than  the  best  of  the  imported  ones. 

JSIr.  Higginson's  great  stud  dogs,  Vaulter  and  Vanguard, 
in  conformation  at  least,  are  very  superior  foxhounds.  Their 
wonderful  depth  of  body  and  lung  capacity,  great  bone  and 
muscle,  as  indicated  by  the  size  of  the  forearm,  almost  fault- 
less feet,  together  with  grand  carriage  of  the  head  and  stern, 
make  them  hard  ones  to  beat.  Vaulter's  measurements  are 
as  follows :  height  from  flags  to  breast  between  forelegs,  twelve 
inches,  height  at  shoulders  twenty-five  inches,  height  of  body 
at  stern  twenty-five  inches,  girth  of  forearm  eight  and  one-half 
inches.  If  these  measurements  are  compared  with  those  of  the 
great   Gambler,   that   Gillard   pronounced   the   most   perfect 


22  The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

hound  ever  produced  in  England,  it  will  be  seen  that  Vaulter 
comes  very  near  to  fitting  the  scale.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  is  a 
very  grand  specimen. 

Mr-  J.  I.  Chamberlain,  who  was  referred  to  in  the  preface, 
designed  Mr.  Higginson's  kennels,  which  possess  so  many 
valuable  features.  Not  only  is  the  JNIaster  to  be  congratulated 
on  the  up-to-date  manner  in  wMch  he  has  equipped  the  Middle- 
sex Hunt  establishment,  but  the  great  fox  hunting  fraternity 
at  large  is  under  lasting  obligations  to  him  for  the  interest  he 
has  taken  in  hound  breeding.  The  writer  believes  his  exertion 
in  this  particular,  will  prove  the  beginning  of  a  competition  in 
hound  breeding  among  masters  of  hounds  in  America  that  wll 
not  only  add  greatly  to  the  interest  of  fox  hunting,  but  elevate 
the  standard  of  the  American  bred  hounds,  be  they  of  Ameri- 
can or  English  descent,  to  the  same  exalted  position  which 
they  enjoy  in  England. 

The  Meadowbrook  Hunt,  with  kennels  at  Hempstead, 
Long  Island,  has  a  wide  reputation  among  the  society  folks 
and  is  on  that  account  often  spoken  of  as  "the  Swagger  Hunt 
of  America." 

While  under  the  mastersliip  of  that  most  gentlemanly  all 
round  sportsman,  ]Mr.  Ralph  EHis,  it  was  the  writer's  good 
fortune  to  visit  the  country  for  a  few  days  and  to  participate  in 
the  chase. 

.  The  Meadowbrook  was  in  those  days  a  drag  hvmt,  pure 
and  simple,  but  since  then  through  the  efforts  of  some  real 
hunting  spirits,  a  pack  of  English  bred  hounds  were  imported 
for  hunting  the  \^dld  red  fox  with  which  that  portion  of  the 
island  has  been  liberally  stocked.  The  writer,  however,  only 
speaks  from  his  personal  experience  with  the  club  as  a  drag 
hunt.  Although  this  style  of  riding  to  hounds  can,  by  no 
stretch  of  the  imagination,  be  called  hunting,  it  has  the  ad- 
vantage of  insuring  the  members,  most  of  whom  are  business 
men  in  town,  a  sure  gallop  every  time  they  go  out. 


v,-.    ELLIS   ESQ., 


FoiV  IIuntiiKj  in  jlmcnca  "23 

While  the  ckib  has  often  been  richculed  by  New  York  city 
papers,  nowhere  in  America,  or  in  the  world,  let  us  hope,  can 
any  other  hunt  club  be  found  riding  to  such  stiff  timber  fences, 
and  nowhere  in  America  at  least  that  the  writer  has  ever 
ridden,  excej)t  in  tlie  chase  of  the  coyote  and  Jack  Rabbits  with 
greyhounds  on  the  open  j)lains,  is  the  pace  as  fast  as  it  is  with 
the  JNIeadowbrook  draghounds. 

It  is  simply  a  cross  country  steeplechase  with  a  racing  pack 
of  hounds  instead  of  a  flagged  course  to  lead  the  way.  The 
writer  will  never  forget  liis  first  flight  over  those  post  and  rail 
fences.  He  was  mounted  on  ]Mr.  C.  A.  Steven's  "Doctor," 
a  son  of  INIacbeth,  whom  the  writer  had  reared  and  schooled  in 
the  Genesee  Valley.     A  most  powerful  jumper. 

The  meet  was  at  the  beautiful  club  house  adjoining  the 
kennels  at  Hempstead.  There  were  at  the  hunt  more  pink 
hunting  coats  and  high  silk  hats  in  evidence  than  could  be 
collected  among  all  other  hunt  clubs  in  America.  It  made  a 
very  pretty  sight  which  would  have  been  a  credit  to  any  of  the 
fashionable  ])acks  of  the  famous  grass  countries  of  England, 
appointments  perfect  and  the  best  lot  of  hunters  to  be  found  in 
a  single  hunt  in  th(i  United  States.  At  the  meet  "Doctor" 
moped  about,  and  in  company  with  horses,  mostly  clean  thor- 
oughbreds, he  looked  and  felt  more  like  a  lumbering  farm  horse 
than  a  hunter.  In  this  respect  he  was  the  most  deceptive  horse 
the  rider  ever  owned.  To  see  liim  going  to  a  meet  5'ou  would 
think  he  was  being  ridden  home  from  a  day's  ploughing.  To 
see  him  going  at  his  fences  when  hounds  were  ahead  of  him, 
you  would  say  that  he  was  the  most  resolute,  spirited  charger 
anywhere  to  be  found,  bold,  determined,  straight  going,  and 
the  cleanest  timber  jumper  a  man  ever  rode.  "Doctor"  never 
hesitated  or  wavered.  His  inspiration,  however,  seemed  to 
come  from  the  hounds,  for  as  an  exhibition  jumper,  he  was 
not  even  ordinary. 

We  had  hardlv  left  tlie  club  house  when  the  hounds  broke 


24         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

away  and  were  off  like  the  crack  of  a  gun.  The  Doctor  and 
his  mount  were  not  expecting  trouble  to  begin  so  soon  and 
were  quite  beliind,  but  not  for  long.  The  Doctor  always 
jumped  clear  of  his  fences  in  the  Genesee  Valley,  but  in  the 
Meadowbrook  he  left  the  first  half-dozen  fences  with  feet 
instead  of  inches  to  spare.  There  was  no  steadying  him  down 
to  them.  He  took  them  all  flying  in  true  steej^lechase  form. 
Mr.  Stevens  promised  the  writer  the  ride  of  his  life  and  he 
had  it,  but  he  felt  Mke  the  girl  who  said  after  her  first  ride 
down  the  toboggan  slide  at  the  Quebec  Ice  Carnival,  "I  would 
not  have  missed  it  for  a  thousand  dollars."  "Then  ride  again?" 
"No,  not  for  two  thousand."  Those  can  laugh  who  will  at  the 
swagger  Meadowbrook,  but  if  those  who  laugh  would  follow 
that  hunt  over  stiff  Long  Island  fences,  they  would  find  they 
had  no  heart  or  face  to  laugh,  for  the  chances  are  their  hearts 
would  be  in  their  mouths  and  their  faces  in  the  dumps. 

At  any  rate,  the  writer  has  a  most  profound  respect  for  the 
pluck  and  nerve  of  the  men  who  ride  and  the  courage  and 
endurance  of  the  horses  that  carry  them  across  the  Meadow- 
brook country. 

The  late  Mr.  P.  F.  Collier,  editor  of  "Collier's  Weekly," 
and  M.  F.  H.,  of  the  JNIeadowbrook,  a  sportsman  through  and 
through,  kept  a  grand  j^ack  of  English  bred  staghounds  at 
his  country  home  in  New  Jersey.  ]Mr.  Collier  rode  at  about 
two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  wliich  meant  his  hunters  must 
not  only  be  above  ordinary  but  extraordinary  as  to  weight, 
bone  and  muscle,  and  so  they  were  in  this  respect.  They  looked 
the  pick  of  Ireland  and  very  similar  to  the  noted  heavy  weight 
Irish  hunters  in  the  hunt  stables  of  Lord  Rothschild,  or  his 
brother,  JNIr  I^eopold  de  Rothschild,  at  Tring,  and  Leighton 
Buzzard,  England,  where  we  shall  attempt  to  take  the  reader 
in  a  later  chapter. 

Tliis  stag  hunt  is  unique,  in  that  the  stags  to  be 
hunted  are  the  large  white-tailed  deer,  which  he  had  collected 


1^ 

kii^S 

f         Jn^P^ 

L^^^^^ 

THK    l.ATK    1".    F.    COLLIER    ESQ. 


»•  »r"^  ^^3^^^^ 

iM 

r 

'} 

,    -.       ,-,     \,     ;.-■  •,f» 

MR.    P.    F.    COLLIER  S  STAGHOUNDS 


Fo.r  JI tinting  in  Amcnca  25 

for  him  in  Texas.  Instead  of  keeping  these  in  a  small  en- 
closure, as  is  the  usual  custom  abroad,  where  they  hunt  the 
crated  stag,  these  animals,  eight  or  ten  of  them,  are  kept  in 
a  large-sized  field,  partly  natural  forest.  Every  day  a  collie 
dog  is  taken  into  this  enclosure  and  gives  them  all  a  good  chase, 
the  object  being  to  keep  them  hard  and  fit  for  running.  They 
have  a  small  paddock  adjoining  the  one  they  are  in,  into  wliich 
they  can  jump  after  they  have  been  chased.  They  soon  learn 
that  this  jiarticular  enclosure  is  a  harbour  of  safety  and  usually 
return  to  it  of  their  own  accord. 

On  a  hunting  day  a  stag,  instead  of  being  carted  and  driven 
to  a  meet  and  there  "enlarged,"  is  liberated  from  a  shed  in  the 
main  enclosure  and  sent  away  by  the  collie  dog  for  six  or  eight 
miles  in  any  direction  he  may  choose  to  take.  The  collie  is  then 
called  in  and  after  an  hour  or  so  the  hounds  are  brought  out 
and  are  cast  into  a  covert  in  the  most  natural  way  for  finding 
a  stag,  independent  of  the  known  point  at  which  he  entered 
the  covert.  In  case  of  failure,  of  course,  the  huntsman  can 
always  lift  hounds  onto  the  known  line  of  entrance  to  the 
covert.  When  the  hounds  ])ick  up  the  trail  and  the  chase  is  on 
the  stag  leads  them  a  merry  gallop  for  ten  or  fifteen  miles,  but 
when  the  hounds  begin  to  press  him  too  hard  for  comfort  and 
he  tries  one  or  two  streams  or  ponds  of  water  as  a  means  of 
throwing  them  off,  it  finally  occurs  to  him  that  there  is  in  the 
Avorld  at  least  one  harbour  of  safety,  i.  e.,  the  little  paddock 
adjoining  his  enforced  enclosure  and  to  this  he  flies  with  the 
unerring  judgment  of  a  homing  pigeon.  When  he  arrives 
there  he  finds  a  place  in  the  high  fencing  let  down  for  him.  A 
servant  is  on  the  lookout  to  close  it  after  him.  The  hounds 
race  up  to  the  spot  where  the  stag  entered  the  enclosure  and 
are  suitably  rewarded  with  a  "worry"  of  fresh  meat,  provided  for 
the  occasion.  The  riders  who  have  been  able  to  follow  are  there 
to  cheer  them  as  they  eagerly  devour  their  reward.  The  chase  is 
over,  the  day  is  done,  after  which  the  hounds  are  kenneled,  and 


26         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hotmd 

riders  and  horses  go  to  their  well  earned  rejiast  and  rest. 

There  are  some  special  features  about  hunting  in  Virginia 
that  distinguish  that  country  from  all  others.  Especially  is 
tliis  true  about  hunting  in  Warrenton. 

If  you  are  not  a  judge  of  "horse  flesh"  or  if  you  cannot  talk 
horse  sideways  and  backwards  morning,  noon  and  night,  take 
the  writer's  advice  and  keep  away  from  Warrenton.  They 
have  got  the  horse  fever  down  there  and  badly.  The  only 
difference  between  Warrenton,  Va.,  and  Lexington,  Ken- 
tucky, is  that  at  the  latter  place  they  talk  horse  and  breed 
them,  as  they  make  and  take  their  whiskey,  straight;  but  in 
Virginia  they  sing  it  with  variations.  That's  not  all,  "the 
Virginia  horses  themselves  are  so  well  schooled,"  says  JNIr. 
Maddux,  the  well  known  M.  F.  H.  of  the  Maddux  Fox 
Hounds  and  also  INIaster  of  the  Warrenton  Drag  Hunt,  "that 
many  of  them  can  speak  in  several  foreign  tongues."  Here- 
with is  a  full  page  illustration  of  Mrs.  JNIaddux  on  her  cele- 
brated grey  hunter,  Torchlight.  It  is  evident  from  the  photo- 
graph that  JNIrs.  JNIaddux  is  also  most  jiroficient.  She  sits  her 
horse  to  perfection  and  her  hands,  with  slackened  bridle  reins, 
show  her  a  cross  country  riding  artist  and  a  past  mistress  in 
the  science  of  negotiating  fences. 

The  writer  had  a  most  dehghtful  visit  at  the  charming 
country  seat  of  JNIr.  and  INIrs.  INIaddux,  and  a  day  with  jSIr. 
JMaddux's  hounds  over  a  grand  hunting  country,  but  he  caught 
the  horse  fever,  therefore  he  talks  horses  in  this  chapter.  He 
can't  help  it;  they  say  that  after  his  visit  to  Virginia,  he 
talked  horse  in  his  sleep. 

The  one  thing  in  Virginia  that  most  impressed  the  writer 
was  the  bone  they  are  producing  in  their  hunters.  It  certainly 
looks  as  if  Virginia  was  destined  to  be  the  coming  hunter- 
horse-breeding  centre  of  the  United  States.  At  least  it  is  not 
at  all  venturesome  to  predict  that  from  Virginia  is  to  come  the 
Irish  hunter  of  America. 


Foa:  Hunting  in  America  27 

The  writer  can  hardly  close  this  chapter  on  hunting  in 
America  without  calling  attention  to  the  special  features  of  at 
least  one  other  hunt  club,  the  Rose  Tree  Hunt. 

A  tliirty  minutes  ride  from  Philadelphia  on  the  Pennsyl- 
vania R.  R.  landed  the  writer  at  ]\Iedia,  a  mile  and  a  half  from 
the  Old  Rose  Tree  Hunt  Club.  A  bus  soon  had  him  at  the 
club  house,  where  he  was  made  welcome  by  a  few  of  the  mem- 
bers who  wei'e  putting  up  there  for  the  night. 

The  club  properly  consists  of  a  beautiful  farm  of  about 
75  acres,  over  which  is  laid  a  steeplechase  course,  on  which  the 
club  holds  a  race  meeting  every  fall  for  the  entertainment  of 
its  members  and  the  farmers  over  whose  lands  they  ride,  and 
for  the  country-side  at  large.  These  meetings  are  old  time- 
honoured  events  and  are  attended  by  a  large  number  of  people 
from  Philadelphia,  Baltimore  and  the  surrounding  country. 
The  club  house  is  an  old-fashioned  Colonial  mansion,  fitted  up 
to  meet  the  requirements  of  the  members.  There  is  no  attempt 
made  at  display;  the  house  is  a  model  of  comfort  and  conven- 
ience and  is  beautifully  adapted  for  the  purpose  for  which 
it  is  now  being  used.  Also  on  the  grounds  are  stables  with 
ample  accommodation  for  horses  and  a  first  class  kennel 
equipment. 

To  toast  one's  shins  on  a  cold  winter's  night  before  the 
himt  club  fireplace,  with  such  venerable  men  as  Heiuy  K. 
Saulnier,  the  president,  and  J.  Howard  I^ewis,  \ice-president 
of  the  club,  is  indeed  a  treat.  The  former  is  now  (lOOo)  in 
his  ninety-sixth  year  and  the  latter  is  in  his  ninety-first  year. 
Both  of  these  gentlemen  give  fox  hunting  the  credit  for  keep- 
ing their  wills  from  going  to  probate. 

In  chasing  the  fox  thej'^  have  hterally  outridden  Father 
Time,  who  sharpened  his  scythe  and  started  after  them  nearly 
a  hundred  years  ago. 

I  will  never  forget  hearing  these  two  dear  old  fox  hunters 
talk  over  their  hunting  days  of  forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  how 


28  The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

this  one  came  a  cropper  over  a  stone  wall  at  Edgemont  and 
how  some  other  one  got  the  brush  after  a  four  hour  run  with 
snow  on  the  gromid,  and  a  hundred  and  one  reminiscences 
which  they  love  dearly  to  relate  of  days  gone  by.  ]Mr.  Saulnier 
is  unable  to  ride  any  longer  or  to  take  any  part  in  club  affairs, 
but  ISIr.  Lewis  still  retains  a  lot  of  his  old  time  vigour  and  now 
in  liis  ninety-first  year  he  can  be  seen  almost  every  day  riding 
his  favourite  saddle  horse  in  Media  or  going  to  and  from  the 
club. 

Emanuel  Hey,  one  of  the  directors  of  the  Rose  Tree  Hunt, 
is  a  true  sportsman  of  the  real  sort  and  did  much  to  make 
the  writer's  visit  to  that  club  something  to  recall  with  pleasure. 

"Only  a  few  years  ago,"  said  Mr.  Hey,  "I  jokingly  said 
to  Mr.  Lewis,  then  in  his  eighty-sixth  year,  'I  would  hke  to 
gallop  my  horse  against  one  of  yours.'  'All  right,'  replied 
Mr.  Lewis,  'you  can  do  it  any  day  you  please.  How  would 
the  afternoon  of  our  next  monthly  dinner  suit  you?'  "  'That 
would  suit  me  all  right,'  replied  Mr.  Hey,  thinking  that  would 
be  the  last  he  would  hear  of  the  matter.  Not  so  Mr.  Lewis; 
he  was  there  on  the  hour  and  demanded  the  race.  Mr.  Hey 
suggested  that  some  one  of  the  younger  men  ride  Mr.  Lewis' 
horse  as  he  did  not  want  to  take  the  chances  of  the  old  gen- 
tleman being  hurt  or  fatigued.  To  this  INIr.  Lewis,  full  of 
his  old  time  sporting  fire,  rather  tartly  rephed,  'You  challenged 
me  to  ride  you  a  race  and  I'll  ride  tliis  horse  myself  or  he 
don't  start.  Xow  then,  are  you  going  to  ride  tliis  race  with 
me  or  back  down?'  " 

It  was  a  race  over  the  club's  course,  a  mile  and  a  quarter. 
Mr.  Lewis  won  in  a  punishing  finish  by  half  a  length,  amid 
the  shouts  and  throAving  of  hats  by  the  lookers  on. 

The  Rose  Tree  Hunt  Club  claims  the  honourable  dis- 
tinction of  being  the  oldest  organised  hunt  club  in  America, 
dating  from  1859.  The  characteristic  feature  of  the  club  is 
that  they  hunt  with  the  old  style  American  hounds  with  long 


Fox  Hunting  in  America  29 

ears  and  deep  voices.  These  hounds  seem  especially  well 
adapted  to  hunt  that  part  of  the  countr\'.  In  colour  they  are 
"Ring  streaked  and  speckled,"  nevertheless  they  are  as  fine 
a  hunting  pack  of  hounds  as  one  would  care  to  see.  With  such 
an  old  hunt  cluh  it  would  he  a  })ity  ever  to  depart  from  this 
style  of  hound.  The  pride  in  the  hunt  is  the  fact  that  they  are 
preserving  as  nearly  as  })ossihle  the  original  American  type  of 
hounds,  and  all  other  customs  and  traditions  of  ye  olden  times. 
JNIay  they  never  change  it  for  more  modern  notions,  but  pre- 
serve it  forever  without  taint  or  tarnish.  As  the  years  go  on 
tliis  feature  will  become  more  and  more  interesting  and  as  such, 
it  would  he  a  shame  ever  to  destroy  it. 

Another  delightful  old  time  feature  which  the  clul) 
members  are  most  assiduous  in  preserving  is  a  monthly  supper, 
"On  the  full  of  the  moon,"  not  only  during  the  hunting  season 
but  for  every  month  in  the  year.  Pennsylvania  farmers  have 
always  been  noted  for  their  sacred  observance  of  doing  im- 
portant things  on  the  full  of  the  moon — "hog  killing,"  "barn 
raising,"  and  many  other  events  of  the  year.  Agreeable  to 
this  time-honoured  custom  the  members  of  the  Rose  Tree 
Hunt  come  together  thirteen  times  a  year  when  the  sign  is 
right.  They  also  say  that  the  man  in  the  moon  is  the  proper 
one  to  get  full  on  these  occasions  and  saves  a  lot  of  big-headed- 
ness,  which  makes  such  a  difference,  especially  the  next 
morning. 

Not  only  do  these  Rose  Tree  sportsmen  entertain  them- 
selves in  this  most  delightful  manner,  but  they  do  not  forget 
the  farmers,  to  whom  they  are  beholden  for  the  courtesy  of 
crossing  their  land.  Twice  a  year  at  the  beginning  and  closing 
of  the  season,  they  give  them  a  dinner,  the  members  of  the  club 
putting  on  aprons  and  waiting  upon  their  guests, — millionaires 
and  farmers,  railroad  presidents  and  gardeners.  It  is  the  most 
democratic  club  I  have  ever  visited. 

The  writer  has  had  a  good  deal  to  say  about  class  and 


30         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

snobbishness  among  American  sportsmen.  It  is  indeed  a  pleas- 
ure to  find  a  club  like  the  Rose  Tree,  practising  true  democracy 
as  a  democratic  people  in  a  democratic  nation  should.  It  is  as 
delightful  as  it  is  simple.  It  is  at  least  the  writer's  idea  of  what 
a  thoroughbred  Ainerican  sportsman  is  Mke.  Long  live  the 
Rose  Tree  Hunt,  to  preserve  and  transmit  examples  of  un- 
adulterated Americanism,  pure  American  hospitahty  and  true 
American  sportsmanship. 

This  club  hunts  nothing  but  the  wild  fox,  of  which  there 
are  fortunately  plenty.  The  club  rules  forbid  the  use  of  the 
hounds  for  drag  hunts.  It  is  a  hunt  club  pure  and  simple ;  the 
best  of  good  fellowship  prevails;  the  farmer  and  his  son  are 
welcome  guests  at  the  club  house  and  in  the  runs,  where  every 
man  is  on  an  equal  footing.  Visitors  are  always  welcome  and 
one  is  always  sure  of  a  good  day's  sport. 

The  writer  rode  out  with  the  Rose  Tree  Hounds  from  the 
kennels  for  a  short  run.  As  there  was  snow  on  the  ground 
the  hounds  were  somewhat  slow  in  finding,  and  as  the  writer 
had  made  an  appointment  with  Jolm  Valentine,  ]M.  F.  H.  of 
the  Radnor  Hunt,  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  his  hounds, 
he  was  obliged  to  quit  early  in  the  day.  As  luck  would  have  it, 
he  missed  the  hunt  of  the  season  with  the  Rose  Tree,  as  will 
be  seen  from  the  foUowdng  letter,  which  he  received  a  few  days 
later  from  Mr.  Hey,  who  gives  such  a  dehghtful  description 
of  the  run,  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to  omit  it  from  these  pages. 
It  reads  as  follows : 

My  Dear  Mr.  Peer: 

You  may  regret  as  long  as  you  live  missing  the  experience 
of  last  Saturday.  After  you  left  us,  we  had  one  of  the  most 
enjoyable  days  to  hounds  it  has  ever  been  my  good  fortune  to 
get  into. 

We  left  the  kennels  as  you  know,  about  eight,  and  started 
for  the  west  Chester  Barrens,  a  covert  about  five  miles  from 


T  il  F,      M  E  E  T 


THE   MEADOWUKOOK   HOUNDS 


Fux  limiting  in  ^Imcrica  31 

the  club  house,  having  a  look  at  all  the  coverts  on  the  way. 
Our  huntsman,  as  you  remember,  cast  his  hounds  into  the 
"Barrens"  and  "the  field"  located  on  the  lower  edge.  I  beheve 
it  was  at  this  moment  that  you  left  us.  What  a  pity!  If  you 
had  waited  another  few  minutes  you  never  could  have  been 
torn  away  by  anything  short  of  instant  death.  Presently  the 
hounds  began  making  the  most  beautiful  music  a  hunting  man 
ever  heard,  when  right  out  before  us,  not  a  hundred  yards  from 
"the  field,"  came  two  foxes.  Of  course  we  were  wild  and  most 
anxious  for  the  hounds  to  get  onto  their  game.  The  snow 
frozen  just  hard  enough  to  carry  the  fox  and  hounds,  and  we 
were  afraid  the  scent  would  grow  cold.  Our  huntsman  and 
hounds  did  not  appear  for  quite  awhile  and  some  of  the  "thresh- 
ing devils"  began  to  get  worked  up.  But  our  good  huntsman 
knew  his  business  like  a  book,  the  hounds  continuing  to  make 
the  woods  ring — when  all  at  once  out  comes  "JNIr.  Fox"  number 
three,  and  not  two  minutes  after  him  our  huntsman  and  the 
hounds  all  bimched  in  the  prettiest  shape  I  ever  saw.  This  fox 
took  a  direction  north  of  the  other  two  so  there  was  no  con- 
fiieting  scent.  The  snow  just  kept  the  hounds  from  going  too 
fast  and  no  one  knew  it  better  than  "Bre'r  Fox."  He  ran  us 
back  and  forth  between  the  Barrens,  Westtown  school,  and 
Poplar  Hill  until  four  o'clock,  when  he  holed.  We  viewed  him 
at  least  fifty  times,  in  fact,  there  was  hardly  a  time  during  the 
hunt  that  he  was  more  than  a  field  or  two  ahead  of  the  hounds 
and  many  times  much  closer.  We  covered  during  the  run,  I 
suppose,  fifty  miles,  but  the  going  was  so  fine  and  the  pace  so 
steady  that  it  did  not  kill  our  horses  like  an  hour's  run  at  a 
steeplechase  clip  with  a  few  checks  thrown  in.  It  was  not  a 
day  for  "threshing  devils,"  but  the  day  for  the  man  who  enjoys 
hunting  for  the  sake  of  the  hunt,  to  see  the  individual  hounds 
work,  first  this  one  and  then  that  one  in  the  lead,  etc. 

Pardon  the  length  of  this,  but  it  is  a  day  I  shall  never  for- 
get.    I  will  never  get  tired  of  thinking  and  talking  al)out  it. 


32  The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

and  my  only  regret  is  that  you  and  all  other  good  hunting 
men  who  hunt  for  the  love  of  the  sport  were  not  in  it.  It 
was  without  douht  the  best  day  I  ever  had  to  hounds  and  I 
have  followed  the  game  for  a  great  many  years. 

Yours  truly, 
Emanuel  Hey 


A  southern  sportsman  of  the  old  school  I  see — 
A  perfect  gentleman  born. 
He  knows  a  good  horse  and  loves  a  good  hound. 
He  likes  a  mint  Julep  tvherever  ifs  found. 
And  a  moonlight  ride  xcith  the  horn. 

II 

FOX  HUNTING  IN  THE  SUNNY  SOUTH 

HUNTING  DOGS  IN  THE  SOUTH — POLITICS  AND  FOX  HUNTING — 
VISITING  A  SOUTHERN  PLANTATIONr^A  SOUTHERN  SPORTS- 
MAN OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL — JIM. 

ONE  maj'  safely  say  there  is  hardly  a  plantation  south 
of  the  "JMason-Dixon"  line,  and  east  of  the  Mississijipi, 
where  one  could  not  find  a  few  dogs  which  are  principally 
devoted  to  fox  hunting. 

In  a  personal  letter  from  Col.  Roger  Williams,  of  Lex- 
ington, Ky.,  he  says  "there  are  100  counties  in  Kentucky 
and  each  had  from  two  to  twentj'  packs  of  hounds  and  two- 
tliirds  of  the  farmers  without  packs  own  two  or  more  hounds." 
Many  of  these  so-called  hounds  are  nondescript  mongrels, 
but  they  can  hunt.  Some  of  them  are  as  good  at  opossum  as 
they  are  at  fox.  They  ^^^ll  "trail"  the  former  by  day,  the  latter 
by  night,  and  in  either  case  give  good  sport,  especially  when 
one  comes  to  know  the  game,  and  appreciate  it  from  a  southern 
sportsman's  point  of  view. 

The  Southerner,  be  he  poor  white,  negro  or  one  of  the 
"first  families,"  is  a  born  hunter.  Fox  hunting  in  the  Southern 
States  is  not  an  occasion  for  dress  or  display  of  any  kind  except 


34         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

good  horsemanship.    The  whole  question,  as  a  rule,  begins  and 
ends  with  the  hunting  quaUfications  of  the  hounds. 

It  does  not  seem  to  matter  much  which  end  of  the  dog  the 
tail  is  on,  so  long  as  it  does  not  interfere  with  his  nose,  liis 
tongue,  or  his  staying  qualities.  He  may  not  have  meat 
enovigh  on  his  bones  to  keep  them  from  rattling ;  he  may  have 
a  chronic  case  of  the  mange,  and  a  flea  for  every  hair ;  but  as 
long  as  he  does  not  stop  to  scratch  the  one  or  hunt  the  other 
when  once  he  strikes  a  trail,  no  matter.  As  may  be  imagined, 
there  has  been  developed  or  evolved  in  the  Southern  States  a 
race  of  dogs — one  can  hardly  call  them  hounds — that  for  pure 
hunting  quahties  and  endurance  have  no  equal  in  any  country. 
There  are  a  few  careful  breeders,  who  have  a  little  regard  for 
type  or  family  characteristics,  but  as  a  rule  there  is  the  greatest 
diversity  among  southern  dogs  that  go  under  the  name  of 
"American  hounds." 

What  the  southern  sportsman  dwells  on  mostly  is  the 
fact  that  his  hound  can  start  a  fox  in  the  morning,  "trail" 
him,  as  the  expression  is,  all  day  and  all  night,  come  home  to 
breakfast  the  next  morning  with  the  pads  of  his  feet  worn 
through,  have  something  to  eat,  take  a  nap  behind  the  kitchen 
stove,  then  start  out  again  of  his  own  accord  to  "trail"  for 
another  day  and  night.  This  is  the  Icind  of  animal  they  are  all 
striving  after,  that  seems  to  be  the  simi  total  of  excellence  in 
the  so-called  American  hound.  It  is  not  at  all  strange,  there- 
fore, that  in  the  question  of  nose  and  endurance  these  dogs  have 
no  equals. 

Nor  is  it  any  wonder  that  a  dog  whose  ancestors  have  been 
brought  up  in  tliis  particular  school  should  hunt  or  trail  all 
around  the  best  Enghsh  bred  foxhounds,  who  usually  make 
a  sorry  display  of  themselves  when  put  to  a  similar  test. 

The  writer  saw  in  a  fox  hunting  pilgrimage  through  the 
Smmy  South  many  dogs  that  did  not  have  a  thing  about  them 
to  distinguish  them  from  common  mongrels.    "Hunts  herself 


Fox  Hunting  in  the  Sunny  South  35 

to  death,"  says  the  proud  possessor,  "can't  keep  her  at  home." 
There  is  sure  to  be  added,  to  an  account  of  her  great  trailing 
quaHties,  "There  is  not  a  better  hound  in  the  state,  no  matter 
where  they  come  from."  The  writer  never  met  a  man  in  all 
his  travels,  or  while  living  for  a  time  in  the  South,  who  did  not 
have  among  his  dogs  at  least  one  that  was  "the  best  in  the 
state." 

Pardon  for  dwelling  over  long  on  this  point,  but  no  one 
can  understand  what  fox  hunting  means  in  the  South  until 
this  question  of  hound  requirements  and  hound  management 
is  disposed  of.  Even  where  these  two  requirements  in  a  hound 
are  developed  to  perfection,  and  where  fox  limiting  is  the  uni- 
versal sport  of  the  country,  it  is  a  very  rare  thing  that  these 
hounds  overtake  and  kill  their  game.  That's  not  at  all  essential 
to  the  happiness  of  a  southern  sportsman.  The  prime  object 
is  to  see  hounds  hunt  and  listen  to  the  "heavenly  music."  The 
owners  know  the  country,  and  the  habits  of  the  foxes  chased 
from  certain  coverts,  so  well  that  the  moment  hounds  give 
tongue  in  any  particular  wood,  the  owner  rides  to  a  certain 
point  where  he  may  view  the  chase  as  it  goes  past.  Having 
arrived  at  the  point  ahead  of  the  game,  he  lights  his  pipe,  and 
waits  and  listens  to  his  hounds.  When  finally  he  hears  them 
coming,  he  says  "That's  Old  Barter,"  or  "Claw  Hammer," 
as  the  case  may  be,  whichever  hound  seems  to  be  leading,  for 
each  one  is  distinguished  by  its  voice.  The  sound  grows 
fainter,  and  you  suggest  "The  game  is  going  the  other  way." 
"No,"  replies  your  host,  "he  has  only  made  liis  usual  double 
back,  and  will  be  passing  here  in  the  next  ten  minutes." 

Many  of  the  keenest  southern  fox  hunters  prefer  to  hunt 
by  moonlight,  because  the  music  carries  farther  in  the  stillness 
of  the  night.    Again  this  is  the  time  foxes  are  always  on  foot. 

When  fox  and  hounds  have  passed  a  given  point,  our  host 
rides  to  some  other  point  where  he  is  nearly  certain  the  fox  will 
pass  again  in  maldng  back  towards  the  place  of  starting.    It 


36         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

is  astounding  how  seldom  southern  fox  hunters  are  at  fault  in 
placing  themselves.  Again  he  puts  fire  to  liis  corn-cob  pipe, 
and  awaits  events.  When  he  has  had  enough  of  this,  and  it 
sometimes  takes  all  night  to  satisfy  liim,  or  he  thinks  his  hounds 
have  had  all  they  ought  to  do  for  one  night,  he  toots  his  cow 
horn  and  calls  them  in.  The  older  ones  generally  obey,  but  if 
they  feel  like  playing  truant,  and  going  on  with  the  game,  on 
they  go,  getting  in  for  breakfast  or  at  any  time  of  night,  or 
the  next  day  wliich  marks  the  limit  of  their  endurance. 

This  may  be  said  to  be  the  general  principle  on  Avhich  fox 
hunting  is  carried  on  throughout  the  Southern  States.  This 
would  not  please  our  English  friends.  A  ride  to  hounds  in 
England  that  does  not  include  a  kill  is  generally  looked  upon 
as  something  of  a  farce.  The  writer,  who  was  brought  up  after 
the  English  style  of  riding  to  hounds,  naturally  prefers  that 
way.  He  wants  to  say,  however,  that  he  has  hunted  enough 
in  the  Southern  States  to  become  thoroughly  interested  in  the 
game,  and  believes  for  the  nature  of  the  country  and  the  game 
and  the  hounds  that  it  is  the  best  adaptation  of  the  sport  to  be 
had,  and  he  can  readily  understand,  if  he  lived  in  that  country, 
and  owned  hounds,  he  would  certainly  do  as  the  Southerners 
do.  Only  he  would  go  in  more  for  looks,  and  style  and  cliar- 
acter,  in  hound  breeding,  which  he  beheves  can  be  maintained 
and  improved  consistently  with  the  southern  requirements  of 
nose  and  endurance. 

The  better  to  illustrate  a  fox  hunt  as  conducted  in  the 
South,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  take  the  reader  to  visit  an  old 
southern  plantation,  and  devote  a  day  to  the  game  as  it  is 
played  throughout  the  Southern  States.  Having  introduced 
the  reader  to  the  southern  hound,  southern  foxes,  and  the 
general  methods  of  pursuing  the  chase,  it  only  remains  to 
present  the  southern  sportsman  himself.  This  probably  can 
best  be  accomplished  by  taldng  the  reader  to  Ansit  the  home  of 
a  southern  gentleman  of  the  old  school — one  who  still  breeds 


Fo.v  Hunting  in  the  Sunny  South  37 

and  hunts  his  own  hounds,  as  in  the  palmy  daj's  "befo'  the 
wah,"  when  plantation  life  was  at  its  zenith,  and  southern 
chivalry  was  in  flower. 

Although  those  good  old  plantation  days  are  greatly  mod- 
ified or  have  disappeared  altogether,  and  although  a  victorious 
army  freed  the  slaves,  devastated  the  land,  and  ruined  the 
people  financially,  there  was  one  thing  that  could  not  be 
destroyed,  one  custom  more  powerful  than  a  president's 
proclamation,  one  thing  an  invading  army  could  not  demohsh, 
or  poverty  put  to  flight;  i.  e.,  the  hunting  instinct  of  the 
Southern  people.  That  at  least  remains.  It  had  been  bred 
into  the  bones ;  it  runs  in  the  blood ;  like  the  spots  of  a  leopard, 
it  cannot  be  changed. 

As  a  southern  hound  fancier  once  told  the  writer,  "Every 
poor  man  could  keep  at  least  one  hound,  and  every  d —  poor 
man  could  keep  two" — and  most  southern  sportsmen  after  the 
war  trained  in  the  latter  class. 

It  is  not  uncommon  for  a  politician  to  stump  the  country, 
going  from  town  to  town  with  his  pack  of  hounds,  making 
speeches  in  the  evening  and  closing  with  an  inrit-atipn  for 
all  to  meet  with  his  hounds  the  next  morning  for  a  day's  hunt- 
ing. The  following  evening  they  are  at  the  next  village  to 
repeat  the  speech  and  invitation. 

The  following  interesting  letter  from  Colonel  Roger 
Williams  of  Lexington,  Ky.,  dated  June  25th,  1905,  says: — 
"Richard  Redd,  a  noted  fox  hunter,  was  elected  assessor  of 
Fayette  County,  for  many  years  in  succession.  He  always 
canvassed  with  his  pack  of  hounds  stopping  over  night  with  his 
constituents  and  hunting  in  the  neighbourhood. 

"For  several  nights  before  election  his  hounds  ran  drags 
through  the  country.  In  some  instances  the  drag  was  laid  in 
the  front  yard  and  even  onto  the  porches  of  the  voters  as  a 
reminder. 

"The  present  State  treasurer  of  Kentucky,"  adds  Col. 


38         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Williams,  "is  a  young  man  and  ardent  fox  hunter.  He  was 
the  only  man  not  on  the  State  ticket  to  be  elected.  He  can- 
vased  the  entire  State,  stopping  only  with  fox  hunters  in 
each  county  and  hunting  wth  them.  He  carried  his  election 
by  the  largest  majority  ever  given  to  a  candidate  for  the  office 
in  the  State." 

While  living  at  Asheville,  North  CaroMna,  in  1887-8,  the 
writer  made  the  acquaintance  of  several  southern  sportsmen 
of  the  old  school. 

"Come  Aovm  and  see  us,"  said  one  (whom  we  will  call  Col. 
Thorpe).  "We  vAW  give  j^ou  a  genuine  North  Carohna 
welcome,  a  taste  of  our  best  corn  wliiskey,  and  a  day's  fox 
hunting  that  will  put  you  on  good  terms  with  all  mankind, — 
especially  the  brethren." 

Through  some  misunderstanding,  tJie  writer  arrived  by 
a  train  ahead  of  the  one  on  which  he  was  expected,  and  of 
course  there  was  no  one  at  the  station  to  meet  him.  WTiile 
inquiring  the  way,  from  a  gentleman  at  the  station,  a  negro 
went  galloping  past  in  grand  style,  and  at  a  speed  calculated 
to  turn  the  blackest  nigger  boy  in  the  place  green  with  envy. 

"Heah,  you  nigger!  You  yellow  nigger  on  the  boss!  you 
come  heah!  !"  shouted  the  gentleman. 

Finally  after  repeated  motions  and  hallooing,  the  rider 
and  liis  beautiful  thoroughbred  mount  came  sidling  up  to  the 
curbstone.  The  grin  on  the  boy's  face,  as  he  urged  liis  hes- 
itating mount  to  witliin  ordinary  speaking  distance,  was  so 
great  and  full  of  satisfaction,  that  but  for  his  ears  to  check 
it,  it  would  have  opened  the  top  of  his  head  like  a  syrup  pitcher. 

"Look  heah,"  said  the  stranger,  "Is  that  Col.  Thorpe's 
boss?" 

"I  reckons  liit  is,  boss." 

"What  you  doing  riding  him  hke  that  for?" 

"I  jes'  done  exercise  him  a  little." 

"Exercise  him!"  roared  the  stranger,  "You're  sure  enough 


Fox  Hunting  in  the  Siinnu  South  39 

riding  that  boss  to  death. — See  heah.  This  yher  gentleman 
wants  to  go  to  Col.  Thorpe's.  You  just  jump  down,  and  let 
him  ride  that  hoss  home.  You  heah,  and  if  I  see  you  riding 
that  hoss  any  more  like  that,  I'll  suht'nly  tell  the  Colonel." 

The  writer  remonstrated.  A  mettlesome  thoroughbred 
covered  with  perspiration,  and  a  joekey  saddle,  was  anytliing 
but  inviting.  So  it  was  finally  settled  that  the  jockey  should 
stay  up,  and  pilot  the  writer  to  a  place  on  the  "pike"  where 
he  could  "cut  cross-lots"  to  the  plantation.  Then  the  jockey 
would  ride  on  to  say  he  was  coming. 

"JMassa  dun  'spect  you,"  said  the  jockey,  apologising, 
"but  he'll  be  pow'ful  glad  to  see  you.  Yes,  Sah.  He  sure  dun 
know^  you  am  a-comin',  else  he  sure  have  been  heah  to  meet 
you,"  etc. — until  the  writer  was  convinced  beyond  question  no 
slight  in  hospitahty  had  been  intended. 

Presently,  when  crossing  a  field  beyond  a  piece  of  timber, 
the  plantation  buildings  came  in  sight — a  modest  two-story 
house,  with  a  wde  veranda  in  front,  and  with  great  fluted 
columns  supporting  the  roof  that  projected  over  the  second 
story,  a  style  of  architecture  very  popular  throughout  the 
South,  and  the  one  best  suited  of  all  for  a  plantation  house 
set  upon  a  rise  of  ground,  as  this  one  was,  some  distance 
back  from  the  "pike."  Of  course  the  house  was  painted 
white. 

The  numerous  detached  out-buildings,  the  slave's  quarters 
before  the  war,  were  noAV  occupied  by  coloured  servants,  pigs 
and  chickens.  These  one-story  white-washed  out-buildings 
formed  an  oblong  enclosure,  that  might  be  called  the  back 
yard  to  the  mansion.  This  yard  is  usually  given  up  to  the 
chickens,  ducks,  turkeys,  dogs,  and  negro  children,  w^th 
possibly  a  cosset  lamb  or  two,  a  lame  pig  or  a  pet  calf.  This 
farm  nursery  is  presided  over  by  some  old  coloured  servant, 
usually  a  woman,  whose  management  is  seldom  questioned, 
and  whose  rule  is  law. 


40         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

How  home-like  and  inviting  it  all  looked.  As  the  writer 
came  up  to  the  front  yard,  all  the  dogs  came  down  to  meet 
him,  together  Avith  a  negro  boy  who  shuffled  along  behind, 
grinning  from  ear  to  ear. 

"Is  the  master  at  home?"  we  inquire. 

"He'll  be  heah  right  smarth,  I  reckon.  He'll  be  right  glad 
to  see  you,  Sah." 

By  tliis  time,  the  dogs  had  inspected  the  writer  to  their 
satisfaction,  and  had  smoothed  dowii  their  back  hair  as  a  sign 
that  he  might  pass.  With  the  darky  boy  in  front  carrying  the 
grip,  and  the  dogs,  now  wagging  their  welcome,  we  arrived 
at  the  house. 

In  the  meantime,  we  had  been  joined  at  a  respectable 
distance  by  two  or  three  negro  claildren.  Old  Hannah,  the 
cook, — as  one  could  tell  by  the  fulness  of  her  form — attracted 
by  the  racket  the  dogs  had  been  making,  came  around  the 
corner  of  the  house,  her  hands  folded  under  her  apron,  the 
whites  of  her  eyes  shut  out  by  a  corresponding  large  opening 
in  the  lower  part  of  her  face.  Just  behind  her  was  a  little 
ebony  nigger,  about  three  years  old,  holding  on  to  the  corner 
boards  of  the  house,  and  sticking  liis  head  around  to  see  what 
was  going  on.  He  was  dressed  in  a  single  garment — a  sliirt 
that  had  e^adently  been  made  for  Um  ^hen  he  was  several 
years  younger.  His  skin  was  so  black  and  shiny  as  to  suggest 
stove  polish.  Presently,  his  mammy  spied  liim  and  then  the 
pair  disappeared  around  the  corner,  the  youngster  howling 
lustily  in  response  to  the  flat  of  his  mother's  bare  hand  on  his 
shiny  black  trousers,  or  what  would  have  been  trousers  if  he 
had  had  a  pair  on. 

Just  as  the  procession  reached  the  lower  steps  of  the  porch, 
the  front  door  opened,  and  the  JNIissis  and  children  were  there 
to  show  their  welcome. 

The  dogs  went  into  ecstasies  about  the  Missis  when  they 
saw  the  writer  was  welcome,  as  much  as  to  say,  "See  what 


Fox  Hunting  in  the  Sunn?/  South  41 

we  have  brought  you."  We  were  soon  seated  in  the  parlour, 
the  four  clogs  lying  about  ^Madam's  chair. 

JNIadam  was  a  fine  and  typical  Southern  lady,  with  a 
queenly  way  and  natural  dignity  enough  for  the  wife  of  the 
President  of  the  United  States.  Her  hair  was  grey  but  her 
face  was  young.  Altogether,  she  had  the  stamp  and  carriage 
of  a  lady  of  great  refinement  and  considerable  culture. 

The  conversation  turned  to  dogs.  Nellie  Bly  was  the 
favourite  bird  dog.  She  never  flushed  her  birds,  and  was 
also  a  good  retriever.  Sancho,  a  hound,  was  a  first  class  dog 
for  trailing  possum.  He  never  told  a  lie.  When  he  gave 
tongue,  you  could  depend  a  possum  was  on  foot  before  liim. 
Dixy  was  a  splendid  rabbit  dog  by  day,  and  would  run  a 
possum  equally  well  at  night.  Jackson,  a  promising  young 
setter,  was  pardoned  for  many  short-comings  on  account  of 
youth. 

Just  as  the  history  of  this  fourth  dog  was  coming  to  an 
end,  the  host  arrived,  and  a  little  later  we  all  went  out  to 
luncheon. 

Colonel  Thorpe,  like  his  charming  lady,  was  quite  grey, 
with  a  very  military  bearing,  sharp,  quick  eyes  that  were  full 
of  temper,  a  deep  square-set  jaw  that  gave  the  whole  figure 
the  stamp  of  resolution  and  determination.  He  wore  a  black 
frock-coat,  no  vest,  slouched  hat,  riding  boots  and  breeches. 
His  heavy  grey  moustache  and  small  goatee,  added  to  his 
military  carriage,  made  him  look  the  real  old  war-horse  he  had 
proved  himself  to  be  in  the  War  of  the  Rebellion. 

Jim,  a  fine,  big,  up-standing  negro,  black  as  the  ace  of 
spades,  waited  on  the  table.  He  wore  a  white  short  coat  and 
apron,  and  caned  the  meat  at  a  side-board.  The  lunch  con- 
sisted of  fried  chicken,  sweet  potatoes,  corn  bread,  rice 
pudding  and  coffee  for  dessert. 

"Jim,"  said  the  Colonel  after  dinner,  "Just  go  over  to 
Colonel  Sacket's,  and  tell  liim  we're  going  for  a  fox  hunt  soon 


42         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

as  the  moon  comes  up,  and  that  we  would  like  to  have  him  come 
along  with  his  hounds." 

Jim,  who  has  a  most  contagious  laugh,  began  to  smile 
when  the  Colonel  began  to  speak.  He  knew  what  was  coming. 
His  nose  began  to  wrinkle,  his  eyebrows  lifted.  His  ears 
began  to  wiggle  like  a  mule  that  is  getting  ready  to  bray,  and 
by  the  time  his  master  got  as  far  as  "hounds,"  Jim  could  con- 
tain himself  no  more,  and  broke  out  with  a  chuckle  that  ex- 
ploded into  a  laugh  wliich  couldn't  be  stopped  with  both  hands 
trying  to  hold  it  down.  He  rushed  out  into  the  kitchen,  and 
there  was  a  great  ha-ha,  followed  by  such  a  racket  that  ISIadam 
went  to  the  Idtchen  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  She  took  one 
look;  evidently  with  the  intention  of  reproving  Jim.  She 
came  back  to  the  table,  laugliing. 

"Colonel,"  5^ou  will  surely  have  to  get  rid  of  Jim." 

"What's  the  racket  about?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"Well,"  replied  his  wife,  trying  to  look  serious,  "Jim  kicked 
over  all  the  chairs,  just  to  give  himself  vent." 

"That  nigger,"  interrupted  the  Colonel,  "likes  fox  hunting 
as  well  as  any  hound  I  ever  saw." 

"And,"  added  liis  ^\ife,  "he  was  holding  Hannah's  baby, 
heels  up  and  head  down,  making  him  walk  on  the  ceiling  like 
a  fly,  and  Hannah  was  taking  after  him  wth  the  broom." 

"Old  Hannah's  enough  for  Jim,"  said  the  Colonel,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "If  Hamiah  is  in  command,  no  fear  but  that 
Jim  will  get  all  the  punishment  he  deserves." 

Madam  failing  to  receive  any  sympathy  from  her  hus- 
band, gets  in  the  last  word  with,  "I  do  think  Jim  is  about  the 
worst  mannered  nigger  we  ever  had  on  the  place,"  but  evi- 
dently she  has  been  saying  that  ever  since  the  beginning,  and 
the  Colonel  lets  it  go  without  comment. 


He  hnoxQS  ichcrc  the  finest  peppermint  groxics. 
He  knoxvs  the  right  jug  in  the  cellar. 
He  knows  his  master  is  sure  to  exclaim, 
Jim,  I  guess  -we  will  have  one  of  them 
Before  we  go  in  to  our  supper. 

Ill 

A  NORTH  CAROLINA  FOX  HUNT  BY 
MOONLIGHT 

THE  MEET — A  LITTLE  GOSSIP  ON  THE  WAY  TO  COVERT — BEFO' 
THE  WAH — JIM's  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  CHASE — OLD  RASTUS — 
THE  GLORY  01'  OLD  GINGER — A  MINT  JULEP, 

TTEAH  comes  Colonel  Sackett,"  said  Jim,  sticking  his  head 
•*■  ■*•  in  the  sitting-room  door,  and  we  all  went  out  on  the 
veranda  to  welcome  him.  There  sat  the  Colonel  on  a  beau- 
tiful horse,  the  ideal  picture  of  an  army  officer.  He,  like  my 
host,  wore  the  conventional  frock  coat  of  the  country,  trousers 
to  match,  no  waistcoat,  and  a  broad-brimmed  soft  hat.  He  sat 
his  beautiful  horse  to  perfection.  His  full,  grey  beard  gave 
liim  a  very  venerable  look.  He  was  called  Colonel,  as  many 
other  Southern  gentlemen  are,  who  look  the  role  even  if  they 
never  won  the  Eagles  which  denote  the  rank.  His  real  rank 
during  the  war,  which  he  entered  as  a  private,  was  that  of  cap- 
tain. However,  "Colonel"  fitted  him  better,  as  any  one  could 
see,  and  "Colonel"  he  Avas.  As  the  ladies  join  us,  the  Colonel 
removes  his  hat,  and  remains  uncovered,  as  the  chivalry  of 
the  country  demands. 

At  a  respectable  distance  sat  the  Colonel's  old  servant. 


44         The  Himting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"Rastus,"  (formerly  his  body  servant)  on  a  jiony-bullt  horse, 
a  line  in  liis  hand  leading  to  six  uncommonly  fine  looking 
hounds.  Hannah  and  three  or  four  of  her  eight  ebonies  stood 
at  one  corner  of  the  porch ;  six  or  eight  nigger  boys  and  stable- 
men and  jilantation  hands  were  looking  on  from  the  other 
positions  about  the  grounds. 

JNIeanwhile,  our  o\v\\  horses  are  led  around  into  the  front 
yard.  Then  up  rides  Jim,  bigger  and  prouder  than  all  com- 
bined, with  six  as  nondescript  looking  hounds  as  ever  wore  a 
shp,  crowding  and  straining  at  their  lines,  enough  to  pull  the 
happy  Jim,  horse  and  all,  wherever  they  wished.  What  a 
picture!  The  dignified  Colonels,  the  laughing  negroes,  the 
eager  hounds! 

Just  as  we  were  ready  to  start,  a  delegation  of  politicians 
drove  in  to  see  Col.  Thorpe,  and  we  were  obliged  to  go  with- 
out him.  Col.  Sacket  taking  command. 
"Jim,"  called  Col.  Thorpe,  "Oh,  Jim." 

Jim  rode  up  to  the  porch. 
"Now,  Jim,"  said  liis  master,  "you  look  sharp.  Don't  you 
let  those  Sacket  hounds  get  the  best  of  our  Ginger  (Col. 
Thorpe's  favoui'ite  foxhound).  If  you  can  help  her  to  lead 
fair  and  square,  you'll  be  the  best  damn  nigger  on  the  place, 
but  mind,  if  ever  I  heah  of  your  doing  any  crookedness,  you're 
a  dead  nigger,  you  heah  me?" 

"All  righ',  Sah,"  rephed  Jim,  "I  take  good  care  'bout  all 
dat."  "No  dog  war  ever  born  what  could  head  old  Ginger," 
added  Jim. 

"Marster  wouldn't  ha'  missed  this  yher  chase  for  five 
hundred  dollars,"  said  Jim  as  an  apology  for  his  master's 
absence.  "It  mus'  be  pow'ful  'portant  business  what  keep 
him  home  when  a  fox  hunt  is  on.  Nothin'  but  death  ever 
stop  him  afore.    Wish  we  had  gone  fo'  dem  gentlemen  come." 

Col.  Sacket  and  the  writer  rode  on  together,  while  old 
Rastus   with   Col.    Sacket's,   and   Jim   with   Col.    Thorpe's, 


A  Norlh  Carolina  Fox  Hunt  hy  MoonlUjhi  45 

hounds  in  leash  came  riding  along  behind.  It  was  such  a 
charming  night,  not  a  breath  of  air  stirring!  "Just  the  night 
for  a  fox  hunt,"  said  the  Colonel.  "I  like  night  hunting  best, 
it  is  still,  and  you  can  hear  the  hounds  at  a  much  greater 
distance." 

The  homids  were  finally  liberated  in  a  small  bit  of  timber, 
and  away  they  went,  heads  down,  each  one  for  himself  as 
if  hunting  alone  and  all  giving  tongue  as  soon  as  the  couples 
were  removed.  The  lot  of  them  would  have  been  hung  in 
England  for  babbling,  but  tliis  style  of  hunting  gives  no 
offence  in  the  South. 

The  writer  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  chase.  It  was 
his  first  experience  after  fox  by  moonlight,  and  in  a  strange 
wood  he  felt  like  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret. 

The  account  of  what  happened,  we  will  leave  to  Jim,  and 
we  copy  as  nearly  as  possible  his  description  of  the  chase,  in 
reporting  the  events  of  the  evening  to  his  master  when  we 
returned. 

Before  we  take  up  Jim's  account,  it  will  be  quite  necessary 
for  the  reader  to  know  a  few  things  that  were  imparted  to  the 
writer  on  the  way  home,  after  what  Jim  looked  upon  as  the 
most  eventful  run  he  ever  experienced,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
part  he  played  in  it  liimself,  which  surely  would  raise  him  to 
the  enviable  distinction,  as  his  master  said,  of  beuig  "the  best 
d —  nigger  on  the  place." 

"INIarster'll  sure  'nuff  be  pow'ful  vexed  with  hisself  that 
he  dun  see  the  glory  of  old  Ginger  this  night."  Thus  began 
Jim,  when  we  had  said  good  night  to  Col.  Sacket,  and  were 
headed  for  our  plantation  some  ten  miles  away.  This  was 
about  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  beautiful  full  moon 
was  just  past  the  meridian.     Tlie  hounds  were  in  leash  again. 

"Nice  looking  lot  of  hounds,  those  of  Col.  Sacket's,"  sug- 
gested the  writer,  "but — " 

"Nice  nothin',"  interrupted  Jim  with  great  indignation, 


46         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"dem  ar  houns  no  foxhouns  'tall,  dey  jus'  orrinary  possum 
dogs." 

It  was  an  awful  mistake. 

"I  mean  they  are  a  nice  looking  lot  of  hounds,  but  of  course 
they  are  not  equal  to  Col.  Thorpe's  hounds  trailing  fox." 

"Well,  I  should  say,"  replied  Jim,  the  whites  of  his  eyes 
rolling  at  me  in  great  disapproval,  so  deep  and  so  strong  that 
every  hne  of  his  face  and  figure  looked  it. 

Then  Jim  went  on  to  tell  how  long  "befo'  de  wah"  this 
Thorpe  and  Sacket  family  fell  into  a  neighbourly  quarrel  that 
almost  amounted  to  a  feud,  and  all  on  account  of  a  fox  hunt, 
and  the  question  of  whose  hounds  were  the  best.  It  seems  that 
the  fathers  of  the  two  present  famihes, — as  were  their  grand- 
fathers— were  noted  fox  hunters  and  hound  breeders.  Rivalry 
therefore,  in  fox  hunting,  between  the  two  famiUes,  was  very 
keen.  It  seems  on  one  occasion  that  the  grandfather  of  the 
present  Col.  Sacket,  and  the  grandsire  of  the  present  Col. 
Thorpe  joined  hounds  in  a  fox  hunt  that  led  to  a  family 
quarrel.    Each  declared  liis  hounds  the  better. 

"Well,"  said  JNIr.  Sacket,  "I  would  hke  to  have  your  hounds 
about  an  hour,  I  would  dump  the  brutes  in  a  sack  with  a 
stone  in  it,  and  throw  the  lot  of  them  into  the  river." 

"Well,  if  I  had  your  hounds,"  said  the  other,  "I  wouldn't 

even  take  the  trouble  to  droAvn  them.     I'd  have  their  d 

throats  cut,  and  throw  them  in  the  soap  grease." 

Tliis  was  a  slur  on  their  being  nice-looking  hounds,  and, 
to  JNIr.  Thorpe's  notion,  carrj-ing  too  much  meat. 

Finally,  it  came  on  to  rain,  and  getting  under  the  lee  of  a 
straw  stack  for  shelter,  Thorpe  said,  "I'll  pull  straws  with  you 
to  see  who  has  the  pleasure  of  killing  the  other's  hounds." 

And  then  each  proceeded  to  pull  a  straw,  the  one  getting 
the  longest  one  was  to  be  the  winner.     Sacket  won. 

"Now,"  said  Thorpe,  "I'll  pull  to  see  whether  you  take 
my  plantation,  or  I  yours.     I  don't  care  to  Uve  beside  you 


A  North  Carolina  Fo.v  Hunt  by  Moonlight  47 

any  longer,  Sir.  Neither  of  us  will  ever  agree.  I'll  buy  or 
sell." 

"I  don't  care  either  to  buy  or  sell,"  said  Sacket,  "but  I'll 
draw  straws  with  you  to  see  who  gives  up  his  plantation  to  the 
other." 

Again  Sacket  won. 

"Xow,  Thorpe,"  said  Sacket,  "I  have  no  use  for  those 
buildings.    You  are  welcome  to  stay  there  as  long  as  you  Uke." 

"D you,  Sir,"  cried  Thorpe,  "I  am  not  a  subject  of 

your  charity.  Sir.  I  will  move  to  my  other  plantation  in  Bun- 
corn  county.     Good-day." 

Well,  he  moved  out,  but  in  taking  his  niggers  with  liim,  it 
turned  out  that  old  Peter,  the  grandfather  of  Jim,  took  with 
them  to  the  other  plantation  a  bitch  called  Gingei'. 

The  present  Ginger  is  her  direct  descendant. 

Then  came  the  war.  The  elder  Sacket  was  killed  outright, 
and  the  elder  Thorpe  died  in  a  northern  prison.  The  present 
Col.  Sacket  and  Col.  Thorpe,  although  but  boys,  hardly  sixteen 
at  the  time,  also  went  to  war.  After  the  war,  young  Thorpe 
fell  in  love  with  young  Sacket's  sister.  They  married.  They 
are  the  present  Col.  and  ]Mrs.  Thorpe.  The  present  Col. 
Sacket  and  his  sister  being  the  only  children,  each  shared  ahke 
in  the  property,  the  daughter  selecting  the  old  Thorpe  home- 
stead, and  this  again  brought  the  two  families  neighbours. 

"So  the  plantation  where  Col.  Thorpe  hves,"  ventured  the 
writer,  "belongs  to  INIadam." 

"Xo,  Sah,"  said  Jim,  "she  dun  marry  the  Kimnel,  and  she 
and  de  plantation  all  belongs  to  de  Kunnel." 

"Well,  all  right,  go  on." 

Both  of  the  boys  inlierited  their  sires'  passion  for  fox 
hunting,  and  the  keen  rivalry  of  old  between  the  two  famihes 
was  renewed.  ThorjDe  had  the  blood  of  old  Ginger  in  his 
new  kennels  but  the  Sacket  pack  had  all  been  stolen  or  dis- 
posed of.    After  the  war  young  Sacket  sent  to  England  for 


48         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

some  celebrated  strain,  and  these  with  a  lately  imported  Eng- 
lish stud  hound,  formed  the  nucleus  of  liis  new  kennels. 

Tliis  Avas  the  state  of  things  when  the  writer  paid  a  A-isit  to 
Col.  Thorpe.  It  is  quite  necessary  the  reader  should  know  the 
foregoing  for  what  is  to  follow,  as  well  as  to  get  a  correct  idea 
of  tliis  rivalry  between  hound  breeders  all  over  the  Southern 
States.  The  fox  hunt  itself,  so  far  as  the  hunting  part  goes,  is 
of  very  minor  account.  The  sport  centres,  not  in  the  pursued, 
but  in  the  pursuers. 

The  above  history  of  these  adjoining  packs  is  very  similar 
to  thousands  of  other  packs  all  over  the  Sunny  South.  Gene- 
ration after  generation  had  handed  down  the  history  and  tradi- 
tions of  these  family  packs  imtil  the  war,  when  thousands  of 
them  were  broken  up  (the  houses  and  plantations  as  well). 
However,  many  of  the  old  southern  plantations  survived,  and 
have  since  been  rebuilt,  and  once  more  the  "heavenly  music" 
cheers  on  the  younger  generation,  in  whose  blood  runs  the  un- 
quenchable fire  and  spirit  of  the  chase. 

This  coming  together  of  the  Sacket  and  Thorpe  kennels,  as 
the  writer  afterwards  surmised,  was  principally  on  account 
of  the  writer's  making  a  remark  favourable  to  the  Enghsh  bred 
hound  and  that  he  wished  to  call  on  Col.  Sacket,  to  whom  he 
had  a  letter  of  introduction.  Col.  Sacket,  as  we  have  shown, 
was  at  the  time  using  Enghsh  blood.  Col.  Thorpe  still  swore 
by  the  blood  of  old  Ginger.  It  was  principally  to  convince 
the  wTiter  as  well  as  to  take  Col.  Sacket's  English-bred  dogs 
down  a  peg  or  two  that  the  invitation  was  sent  out  for  him  to 
join  us.  This  invitation,  as  the  reader  can  now  imagine, 
amounted  to  a  challenge. 

For  the  description  of  the  events  of  the  night,  we  shall, 
as  before  stated,  depend  upon  Jim.  The  writer  rode  here  and 
there  about  the  wood,  Avith  Col.  Sacket,  or  was  stationed  by 
him  at  given  points  best  calculated  to  see  the  run,  or  sat  listen- 
ing on  his  horse,  sometimes  for  half  an  hour,  without  hearing 


A  North  Carolina  Fox  Hunt  hy  Moonlight  49 

a  sound  save  the  hoot  ol"  an  owl,  a  whip-poor-will's  call,  or  the 
crowing  of  a  distant  cock  that  mistook  the  moonlight  night 
for  the  balmy  dawn.  Nevertheless,  he  enjoyed  it  all,  the 
balmy  air  with  its  piny  flavour,  the  aroma  of  the  wood,  nectar 
for  the  gods,  and  the  glorious  moonlight  through  the  tree  tops. 
What  a  perfect  night ! 

We  were,  as  Col.  Thorpe  had  prophesied,  on  the  best  of 
terms  with  all  mankind,  especially  the  brethren  (fox  hunting 
fraternity) .  Add  to  all  this,  reader,  please,  if  you  can  imagine 
it,  the  "heavenly  music"  of  the  hounds.  How  it  rose  and  fell 
on  the  soft  night  air,  sometimes  dying  down  to  a  whimper, 
and  then  like  the  final  chorus  of  a  grand  pipe  organ,  increasing 
in  volume  until  it  filled  the  forest,  the  fields  and  adjoining 
hills  W'ith  echoing  melody. 

It  was  at  least  three  o'clock  when  we  reached  the  house. 
We  had  no  more  than  reached  the  door  when  Col.  Thorpe, 
dressed  in  pajamas,  came  down  to  hear  the  news. 

"Oh.  marster,  but  you  ought  to  er  been  dar,"  cried  Jim  at 
the  sight  of  his  master.    "Old  Ginger  done  lead  the  pack." 

"Good,"  cried  the  Colonel,  "tell  me  all  about  it." 

So  Jim,  having  struck  an  attitude  on  the  floor  where  want 
of  chairs  and  tables  gave  him  plenty  of  room,  began,  the  Colo- 
nel, meanwhile,  sitting  on  the  arm  of  a  chair,  his  face  all  aglow 
with  expectation,  anticipation  and  pride.  If  Jim  had  to  tell 
how  he  won  for  him  a  million  dollars,  he  could  not  have  been 
more  anxious. 

"Fust  off,"  said  Jim,  "Rastus  (Col.  Sacket's  old  coloured 
man  who  handled  his  hounds)  gave  me  a  big  sermon  'bout  de 
Runnel's  new  hound,  what  he  done  fetch  over  from  England. 
He  say  'Yo  old  boneyard  hounds  am  no  good  any  mo',  along- 
side de  'ported  (imported)  kind.'  'Rastus,'  I  say,  'You  ole 
fool  nigger,  you  jus'  go  long  'bout  your  business,  fo'  you  head 
git  so  big  it  surely  bust.  Have  you  got  any  money  yo'  like  to 
back  vour  talk  wid?'  " 


50         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

(Here  Jim  assumed  the  air  of  a  bloated  land-owner  with  no 
end  of  money) .  "  'Can  meet  you,'  said  he.  'All  right,  I  bet  yer 
my  year's  wages  gin  yourn  you  han't  go  no  fox  dog  nohow,  put 
up  or  shut  up,  and  what's  mo',  dun  you  go  fooling  around 
Marster  Thorpe's  dogs,  with  none  of  yo'  ole  tricks,  or  I  fills 
you  so  full  o'  lead,  j^ou  sink  on  dry  land.'  " 

"Did  you  have  a  gun  with  you,  Jim?"  asked  the  Colonel, 
looking  serious. 

"Deed  I  did,  Sah.  Ole  Rastus  play  no  salt  meat  game  on 
dis  nigger,  no,  Sah." 

Tliis  referred  to  a  trick  laid  to  Rastus,  but  never  proved; 
i.  e.,  that  he  put  a  lot  of  corn  beef  in  the  woods  for  Col. 
Thorpe's  homids  to  find  and  gorge  themselves  on,  so  they 
couldn't  run,  keeping  the  Sacket  hounds  in  leash  until  the  meat 
was  devoured.  Of  course,  the  Sacket  hounds  took  all  the 
honours.  The  incident  stirred  up  a  lot  of  bile  and  rile  in  the 
blood  of  both  families,  and  although  Col.  Thorpe  had  married 
Col.  Sacket's  sister,  the  sore  had  never  quite  healed  over  to  the 
present  day. 

Jim's  carrying  a  gun  was  strictly  against  the  rule,  and  on 
any  other  occasion,  he  would  probably  have  received  a  severe 
reprimand,  and  had  the  gun  taken  away  from  him,  but  the  Col- 
onel was  so  anxious  to  hear  about  the  "glory  of  old  Ginger" 
that  he  let  it  pass. 

"Where  did  you  throw  in?"  asked  the  Colonel,  who  evi- 
dently wanted  to  get  Jim  on  to  the  trail  without  further  ado. 

Then  Jim  told  how  he  crossed  this  field,  and  that,  and 
finally  where  they  took  the  hounds  to  uncouple  them. 

"Yes,  excellent  j^lace!"  cried  the  Colonel,  shifting  his  seat 
on  the  arm  chair,  as  if  he  were  now  settling  himself  in  his  saddle 
for  a  burst  of  speed  when  the  hounds  should  jump  their  fox, 
and  the  heavenly  music  should  come  to  fill  the  wood,  and  like- 
wise his  heart. 

"Then,"  said  Jim,  "we  hadn't  long  ter  wait."    "That's  old 


A  North  Carolina  Fo.v  Hunt  by  Moonlight  51 

England!"  cried  the  Colonel,  as  one  of  his  hounds  hegan  giving 
tongue.  "I  jus'  laf,"  said  Jim,  "fo  dat's  no  fox,  nohow,  dat's  a 
possum,  sure,  cause  ole  Ginger  she  was  right  dah,  and  she  dun 
say  nothing  ahout  it.  For  shur  I  did  laf,  and  I  say  I  give 
ten  y'ars  my  life  if  dem  'ported  dogs  take  after  a  possum, 
an'  disgrace  themselves  for  life.  'Whar's  you  Ginger  now?' 
said  dat  fool  nigger  Rastus,  'pears  like  she  hain't  got  no  nose, 
nohow.'  'See  heah,  Rastus,'  said  I,  'has  yer  been  up  to  any 
crookedness?  I  just  tell  you  right  now,  I  got  a  gun  for  you, 
and  I  shoot  you  daid  fo'  you  get  out  dis  yher  woods!'  "  And 
Jim  drew  his  gun,  and  rolled  his  eyes,  hving  over  again  his  state 
of  mind  when  he  was  between  fear  and  doubt. 

"On  went  de  hounds,  and  we  were  waitin'  and  waitin',  when 
way  off  to  the  right  o'  de  Sacket  hounds,  I  heahs  old  Ginger." 

At  this  the  Colonel  cried  "Good!"  and  Jim  went  into 
ecstasies  again,  like  all  his  emotional  race,  as  he  lived  the  sensa- 
tions over. 

"  'Dat's  ole  Ginger,'  I  cried  to  Col.  Sacket,  'your  dogs  only 
run  a  possum.  Dat's  ole  Ginger,  and  you  listen  jus'  a  minute. 
Dun  I  tole  j'ou  so,'  sa'  I,  and  shu'  'nuff  all  our  dogs  hark  to 
ole  Ginger;  not  a  dog  of  Col.  Sacket's  in  the  lot,  and  I  was  fit 
to  die  for  joy." 

"Jim,"  said  the  Colonel,  as  if  the  news  was  too  good  to  be 
true,  "Jim,  is  that  right?" 

"Dat  is  squar  gospil  true  on  de  Bible.  Col.  Sacket  can  say 
no  diff'rent." 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel,  to  bring  Jim  back  to  the  trail 
again,  "What  next?" 

"Of  cose  I  wanted  to  git  to  ole  Ginger  but  I  wanted  fust 
to  see  wid  my  own  eyes  de  disgrace  of  dem  'ported  dogs.  By- 
n-by  we  heah  ole  Ginger  a-coming,  and  yelping  every  time  she 
hit  the  ground.  She  had  shur  turn  dat  fox  to  bring  him  back, 
so  we  could  see  the  fun.  On  dey  conies,  offle  fast.  I  could  tell 
she  war  heating  Mr.  Fox's  jacket  mos'  beautiful.     On  dey 


52         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

comes,"  cried  Jim,  "and  dar"  (pointing  to  the  baseboard  as  if 
he  actually  saw  the  fox  again,  his  ej'es  wide  open,  and  his  chin 
drooping  with  astonishment.  The  Colonel  and  the  writer  both 
looked  more  than  half  expecting  to  see  a  fox  sneaking  past)  — 
"And  dar,  shu'  'nuff  went  past  us  INIr.  Fox."  The  Colonel 
stood  up  the  better  to  see  the  fox  as  he  passed. 

"On  came  ole  Ginger,"  continued  Jim,  "bless  my  eyes! 
Oh,  Marster  Thorpe,  dat  war  de  bes'  sight  of  all.  She  war 
not  two  rods  from  dat  ole  fox's  tail,  and  all  her  chilen  hard 
after." 

The  old  lady  was,  as  Jim  said,  showing  her  sons  and  daugh- 
ters the  way  in  great  shape.  This  point  was  lost  to  the  writer 
at  the  time.  It  only  goes  to  confirm  what  has  already  been 
said  about  fox  hunting  in  the  Southern  States,  one  must  know 
the  whole  family  history,  not  only  of  the  hounds,  but  the  people 
who  hunt  them  in  order  to  appreciate  the  game.  When  you  do, 
it  becomes,  as  the  reader  must  imagine  it  was  in  this  case,  inter- 
esting beyond  comparison.    Let  us  hark  back  to  old  Ginger. 

"Good  old  Ginger!"  cried  the  Colonel.  "There  is  not  her 
equal  in  the  State.    She — " 

"Say  in  de  worl',  Marster  Thorpe,  say  in  de  worl',"  inter- 
rupted the  enthusiastic  Jim.  "If  you  see  de  way  she  laid 
herself  long  de  groun'  after  dat  are  fox,  'twould  dun  tickle 
you  mos'  to  def." 

"Did  you  cheer  her  on,  Jim?" 

"Did  I  cheer  her  on!  Well,  INIarster  Thorpe,  how  can  you 
ask  such  a  question?  Cheer  her  on — I  jus'  dun  shouted  my 
head  clean  off — I  holler  and  cheer  until  all  de  woods  and  de 
hills  were  hollering  back.  Yes,  Sah, — I  speck  dey  all  hollering 
yit.  An'  when  she  jus'  look  at  me,  out  o'  de  corner  of  her  eye, 
as  she  went  pas',  much  as  to  say,  'dun  you  trouble  'bout  me, 
Jim.  I  dun  know  my  business!' "  And  Jim  with  his  face  side- 
ways to  his  master,  gave  him  a  quick  look  out  of  his  big,  lus- 
trous eyes,  just  to  show  how  it  was  done.     This  pleased  the 


^l  Xortli  CaroIiiKi  Fax  Hunt  hi/  MoonlUfJit  5.3 

Colonel  immensely,  and  lie  and  Jim  laughed  and  we  all  laughed 
to<^ether. 

The  writer  now  recalled  ^Madam's  advice  to  the  Colonel 
the  night  before  about  getting  rid  of  Jim.  The  reader  knows 
now  what  a  waste  of  effort  this  was  on  ^ladam's  part.  The 
Colonel  is  a  poor  man  as  riches  go  these  days,  but  we  doubt  if 
he  would  part  with  Jim  for  a  million,  or  old  Ginger  for  two. 
The  Colonel  is  white,  and  Jim  is  black,  but  in  fox  hunting  they 
are  two  of  a  kind. 

"What  about  Col.  Sacket,  all  this  time?"  asked  the  Colo- 
nel, when  the  laugh  had  subsided. 

"Well,  Sah,  after  ole  Ginger  go  pas'  and  git  out  o'  hearing, 
we  ride  along  to  de  top  o'  de  hill,  and  shu'  'nuff  we  heah  in  de 
bottom  de  Runnel's  dogs  barking  up  a  tree,  jus'  as  I  'spected. 
De  Kunnel  he  says  'damn'  and  we  all  goes  down  ter  see,  and 
shu'  "nuff,  dar  dey  war  wid  de  'ported  dog,  his  fore  legs  up  de 
tree. 

"  'Dey  is  nothin'  but  possum  dogs,'  say  I. 

"  'Yer  right,  Jim,'  says  de  Kunnel. 

"  'I'll  go  up  de  tree,  and  shake  him  out,'  says  I.  'De  dogs 
am  spiled  for  fox,  and  yer  better  make  possum  dogs  outen  'em, 
and  done  with  it.  Dat  'ported  dog,  he  dun  lead  your  other 
dogs  into  temptation.' 

"  'Yer  right  agin,  Jim,'  said  the  Kunnel,  'and  if  I  had  a 
gun,  I  would  end  his  miserable  life  right  heah.' 

"  'If  't  would  much  obleege  yer,  Kunnel,'  said  I,  'I  might 
'commodate  you  with  the  loan  of  a  'volver.' 

"  'Lem  me  see  it,'  said  the  Kunnel. 

"When  I  han'  him  my  gun,  he  says,  'Is  she  loaded?' 

"  'Yes,'  I  say. 

"  'What  fur'?' 

"I  didn't  like  to  tell  him  it  was  for  his  nigger  Rastus,  so  I 
say,  'Jes  in  case  yer  like  to  shoot  yer  'ported  hound.'  say  I. 

"  'Well,  I  do,'  say  he  and  jes'  den  de  big,  'ported  hound 


54         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

come  round  de  tree,  barking  like  a  cur,  and  de  gun  dun  went 
off  with  a  streak  o'  fire.  De  'ported  dog  never  knew  what  hit 
liim.  He  were  as  dead  as  a  do'  nail,  with  a  bullet  tlirough  his 
head. 

"When  de  other  dogs  see  dis  dey  put  da  tails  'tween  dar 
legs,  and  hoofed  it  for  home. 

"  'Give  my  compliments  to  Col.  Thorpe,'  say  de  Kunnel, 
'and  tell  liim  he  has  de  best  pack  of  hounds  in  North  Carolina,' 
and  we  lef  dat  possum  up  de  tree,  and  all  start  for 
home." 

"Well,  well,  well,"  said  the  Colonel,  letting  himself  down 
into  the  seat  of  the  big  arm-chair,  in  a  meditative  mood. 
"Well,  well,  well!  Has  it  come  at  last?"  Then  turning  to  the 
writer,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  he  said,  "For  nearly  one 
hundred  years  the  Sacket  family  has  been  claiming  the  supe- 
riority of  their  hounds.  It  has  caused  no  end  of  hard  feeling, 
which  on  several  occasions  set  ujj  factions  in  tliis  county,  that 
were  carried  to  the  church  and  even  to  the  state  politics.  Well ! 
well!  well!  It  has  come  at  last,"  and  again  the  Colonel  gave 
liimself  to  silent  meditation.  Jim,  likewise,  looked  on  most 
seriously.  It  seemed  as  if  the  great  rejoicing  had  turned  to 
mourning.  But  it  hadn't.  It  was  but  a  still  deeper  rejoicing 
on  Colonel  Thorpe's  part.  His  sadness  was  sympathetic  sad- 
ness for  the  final  overthrow  of  the  Sacket  hounds,  his  ancient 
enemy.  What  if  it  had  been  the  other  way  about?  He  felt 
the  chagrin  and  mortification  of  this  defeat  for  his  neighbour, 
as  if  it  had  been  his  own  brother.  Still,  if  it  had  not  happened, 
he  and  his  neighbour  would  have  gone  on  with  the  same  family 
strife  to  the  end  of  their  days,  transmitting  to  their  descen- 
dants the  same  untiring  efforts,  each  to  out-do  the  other.  If 
Colonel  Sacket  could  have  come  in  then,  he  would  have  received 
such  a  greeting  as  a  Sacket  never  experienced  in  crossing  the 
Thorpe  homestead  before. 

The  next  day  as  we  were  all  in  the  back  yard  inspecting  the 


A  North  Carolina  Fox  Hunt  by  Moonlight  55 

last  litter  of  i)upj)ies  from  old  Ginger — they  were  nearly  six 
months  old — up  drove  Colonel  Sacket. 

"Well,"  said  that  game  old  sportsman,  "Colonel,  I  con- 
gratulate you  on  having  the  hest  pack  of  hounds  I  ever  saw. 
Old  (Tinger  is  indeed  a  wonder.  My  importation  of  English 
hlood  has  ])roved  a  rank  failure.  I  am  thoroughly  disgusted 
with  tlie  whole  lot." 

Not  an  allusion  to  the  evening  before  did  Colonel  Thorpe 
make,  but  leading  his  old  neighbour  to  the  kennels,  they  fell  to 
discussing  the  last  litter. 

"Which  do  you  tliink  the  best  of  the  lot?"  asked  Colonel 
Thorpe. 

"Well,"  said  Colonel  Sacket,  after  he  had  looked  and  han- 
dled them  all  over  carefully,  "I  think  I  like  the  white  and  tan 
dog,  but  the  httle  bitch  is  a  beauty,  and  marked  just  like  her 
mother." 

"Jim,  ho,  Jim,  fetch  a  basket  from  the  kitchen " 

"Sir,"  said  Colonel  Thorpe,  "may  I  have  the  pleasure  of 
presenting  you  with  the  pair  of  puppies  you  like  best  from  old 
Ginger?" 

Colonel  Sacket  blushed  like  a  school-girl.  He  could  hardly 
speak.  When  he  did,  he  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  said  "Col- 
onel Thorpe,  you — you're  a  gentleman  and  a  sportsman.  I 
take  these  dogs  in  the  spirit  they  are  given,  and  hoj^e  that  in 
the  years  to  come,  I  shall  be  able  to  produce  a  pack  of  hounds 
that  will  be  a  credit  to  the  country,  an  honour  to  the  state  and 
the  very  devil  to  chase  foxes." 

Then  we  went  in  and  vnth  a  mint  julep  such  as  Jim  only 
can  make,  we  drank  to  the  health  of  Col.  Sacket,  and  his  success 
in  the  breeding  of  American  bred  foxhounds,  and  once  again 
to  Col.  Thorpe,  a  genuine  Southern  sportsman  of  the  old 
school. 


A  New  England  Country  Gentleman  I  found  him, 
A  Sportsman  as  square  as  a  box, 
With  hospitality  as  broad  as  his  acres  were  wide. 
With  a  soul  unpampered  by  wealth  or  pride. 
And  a  heart  as  big  as  an  ox. 

IV 

FOX  HUNTING  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 

UNCLE  ABNER — A  GENUINE  SPORTSMAN  OF  THE  REAL  OLD  SORT — 
TWO  FAMOUS  BIRD  DOGS — A  SAIL — SHOOTING  THE  FOX — 
APPLES  AND   CIDER. 

TTNCLE  ABNER— everybody  called  him  "Uncle:"  it 
^^  fitted  him — was  one  of  those  noble  specimens  of  Amer- 
ican country  gentlemen  that  were  very  plentiful  all  over  New 
England  and  the  Eastern  States  from  the  day  of  the  early 
settlers  until  after  the  War  of  the  Rebellion. 

Since  then  they  have  gradually  disappeared  and  there  does 
not  seem  to  be  very  much  material  in  sight  to  fill  their  places,  at 
least  on  the  farms.  Nowadays  most  of  these  ancient  country 
homes  are  given  over  to  the  emigrant,  or  to  a  wealthy  city  man 
who  owns  them  as  toys.  The  profligate  land  policy  of  our 
government  in  setting  up  tens  of  thousands  of  emigrants  yearly 
in  the  farming  business  is  principally  the  cause  of  tliis  deteriora- 
tion in  agriculture.  Thus  it  has  come  about  that  the  foreign 
government-made  farmers  have  depeopled  the  farms  of  New 
England  and  the  Eastern  States  of  the  grandest  race  of  coun- 
try gentlemen  America  has  ever  produced. 

Agriculture  in  the  Eastern  States  has  steadily  dechned. 


Fox  Hunting  in  Xcic  England  57 

The  sons  and  daughters  of  these  country  gentlemen  have  left 
the  farm  for  the  factory,  so  that  this  most  noble  race  of  men 
who  were  indigenous  to  the  soil  has  been  lost  to  the  country, 
state  and  nation,  swallowed  up,  ground  to  pieces  or  altered 
beyond  recognition. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  ultimately  the  government  at  Wash- 
ington will  give  to  agriculture  the  same  fostering  care  and 
protection  that  are  devoted  to  manufactm-ing  industries.  Who- 
ever attempts  to  write  the  history  of  America  in  the  near 
future,  will  surely  say  that  this  profligate  land  policy  has  been 
one  of  the  most  unstatesman-like  acts  committed  against  the 
American  people. 

There  is  now  and  then  a  descendant  of  this  good  old  stock 
scattered  about  New  England  and  the  Eastern  States,  who 
is  living  in  the  country  part,  if  not  all,  of  the  year.  While  this 
class  may  have  inherited  the  taste  for  country  life,  they  are 
usually  depending  upon  a  factory  or  business  in  town  to  sup- 
port the  land.  Nearly  every  one  born  of  agricultural  parents, 
wliose  memorj'  goes  backward  to  the  fifties  will  know  just  the 
kind  of  a  man  the  writer  is  about  to  describe  in  Uncle  Abner. 
Or  as  our  favourite  poet  Williams  would  say: 

"I'll  give  you  a  gentleman,  a  man,  and  a  friend, 

A  nailer  to  handle  the  horn, 

A  man  one  is  always  jnrparcd  to  defend. 

Whose  friendship  is  strong  and  endures  to  the  end, 

A  truer  sportsman  never  teas  horn." 

Although  the  writer  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  have  been 
born  in  a  city,  his  bringing  up  in  the  fifties  was  in  a  community 
of  Uncle  Abner's.  The  writer's  joy  in  finding  such  a  man  as 
late  as  '98  is  left  to  the  reader's  imagination. 

Like  fox  hunting  in  the  Southern  States,  the  charm  in  New 
England  centres  more  in  the  men  who  hunt  than  in  the  fox. 


58         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"Come  down  and  see  me,  come  for  a  week,"  said  Uncle  Ab- 
ner.  "We'll  fill  you  up  on  pumpkin  pie  and  buckwheat  cakes. 
We'll  give  you  plenty  of  New  England  air  and  that  is  the 
best  in  the  world  for  your  health.  As  you  are  built  that  way, 
we'll  go  fox  hunting  every  day  and  coon  hunting  every  night." 

"Now  see  here.  Uncle,  you  are  leading  me  into  temptation 
beyond  my  strength.  Pumpkin  pie,  that's  my  favourite,  buck- 
wheat cakes  are  my  special  favourites  and  fox  hunting — that's 
the  last  straw.  'I  am  yours  to  command.'  When  you  are 
ready  let  me  know,  and  I'll  be  there." 

"What's  the  matter  with  right  now?  Get  your  grip  and 
come  along  with  me,"  and  Uncle  Abner's  stronger  will  again 
prevailed. 

Uncle  Abner  is  a  widower,  and  his  maiden  sister  keeps 
house  for  him.  "Just  we  two,"  explained  Uncle  Abner  in  his 
cutting  New  England  humour,  "and  a  man  to  do  a  few  chores 
around  the  place  and  make  me  a  lot  of  trouble  and  a  hired 
girl  in  the  kitchen,  just  to  keep  my  sister  from  getting  out  of 
employment  and  to  have  something  handy  on  the  place  for 
women  folks  to  talk  about  when  they  call." 

It  was  nearly  evening  when  we  arrived  at  Uncle  Abner's 
farm,  and  soon  after  we  were  seated  to  a  good  New  England 
dinner  such  as  Aunt  Polly  knows  how  to  prejjare — a  kind  of 
dinner  that  is  being  imitated  and  called  "A  New  England 
dinner,"  all  over  the  United  States,  but  there  is  only  one  true 
receipt  and  that  the  writer  is  inclined  to  think  never  went  out  of 
New  England. 

Uncle  Abner  had  never  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  a  college 
education,  but  he,  like  many  of  his  colleagues,  possessed  a  fund 
of  knowledge  that  is  seldom  met  with  in  men  who  have  been 
forced  through  college  by  the  present  day  cramming  process. 

Well,  Uncle  Abner  was  one  of  those  pioneer  great  men  who 
in  lieu  of  book  learning,  had  received  from  the  fates  some  bea- 
con light  that  leads  on  to  a  grand  and  noble  manhood,  an 


Fo.r  Hunting  in  Xerc  England  59 

honour  to  the  neighbourhood  and  the  marvel  of  all  who  know 
them. 

After  dinner  we  had  a  social  feast  talking  horses  and  poli- 
tics. Uncle  Abner  was  at  one  time  State  Assemblyman  and 
his  reminiscences  of  jjolitical  fights  were  most  interesting. 
Said  Uncle  Abner  finally,  "If  we  are  to  go  fox  hunting  to-mor- 
row, we'd  better  get  out  the  guns  so  as  to  be  all  ready  for  an 
early  start  in  the  morning." 

While  the  old  gentleman  was  getting  down  his  guns  and 
ammunition,  the  kitchen  door  o])ened  and  in  rushed  two  of  the 
grandest  pointers  one  would  wish  to  see.  Uncle  Abner  hap- 
I)cned  to  have  a  gun  in  his  hand  at  the  time,  in  fact  it  was  our 
talking  gun  or  the  smell  of  them  that  made  these  pointers  push 
their  way  in. 

They  ran  to  Uncle  Abner,  smelt  of  the  gun  and  then  began 
such  a  race  about  the  house  as  would  give  a  shooting  man  some- 
thing to  remember  as  long  as  he  lived.  The  writer  has  seen 
many  bird  dogs  take  on  at  the  sight  of  a  gun,  but  these  two 
pointers.  Liver  and  Bacon,  take  the  prize. 

They  furled  or  double  reefed  every  rug  on  the  hardwood 
floors,  out  through  the  hall  into  the  parlour,  back  again  into  the 
sitting-room,  hum])ing  their  backs  and  going  hke  mad.  The 
writer  laughed  until  he  couldn't  make  a  noise,  while  Uncle 
Abner  looked  ])roudly  on. 

"The  hounds  for  fox  hunting,"  explained  Uncle  Abner, 
"we  keep  shut  up  down  by  the  barn,  as  you  know  here  in  New 
England,  we  loosen  the  hounds  and  then  station  ourselves 
about  as  on  runways  for  deer  and  shoot  the  fox  as  the  hounds 
drive  him  past. 

"We  will  go  out  with  the  hounds  early  in  the  morning,  and 
if  we  get  anything  by  noon,  we  will  come  in  and  try  the  point- 
ers on  woodcock  and  quails.  They  (the  pointers)  have  seen  us 
with  the  guns  and  they  will  be  miserable  if  we  do  not  take 
them  out." 


60         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Think  of  a  man  at  Uncle  Abner's  age  going  fox  hunting  in 
the  morning  and  then  bird  shooting  in  the  afternoon,  just  be- 
cause Liver  and  Bacon  had  seen  the  guns  and  would  be  miser- 
able! 

The  writer  has  spent  many  delightful  evenings  with  genu- 
ine sportsmen,  talking  horse  and  gun  and  hounds,  but  the  night 
among  them  all  that  his  memory  loves  best  to  recall  is  the  one 
spent  with  Uncle  Abner,  that  American  gentleman,  farmer 
and  fine  sportsman. 

We  were  up  bright  and  early  the  next  morning.  The 
hounds  loaded  into  a  crate  on  a  democrat  wagon,  a  basket  heavy 
with  luncheon  at  our  feet,  the  guns  leaning  against  the  seat  be- 
tween us — and  we  are  ready.  Liver  and  Bacon,  meanwhile, 
were  racing  about  and  jumping  at  the  old  mare's  head  in  their 
eagerness  to  see  her  start. 

Uncle  Abner  explained  on  the  way  that  we  would  drive  to 
Lebago  lake,  about  two  miles,  leave  the  old  mare  and  the 
pointers  at  a  livery,  take  a  sail  boat  and  cross  the  lake  to  an  up- 
land forest  where  there  are  plenty  of  foxes,  and  where  there 
was  little  or  no  underbrush  to  obstruct  the  view,  for  as  pre- 
viously stated,  we  were  to  station  ourselves  at  certain  points 
while  the  hounds  were  expected  to  "jump"  their  fox  in  the  bot- 
tom lands  near  the  lake  and  drive  them  within  reach  of  our 
guns.  The  programme  was  to  try  the  hounds  for  foxes  during 
the  forenoon,  and  return  to  give  Liver  and  Bacon  some  fun 
after  birds,  in  some  big  stubble  fields,  near  the  livery  stable, 
after  lunch;  for  by  that  time  it  would  be  too  dry  to  "trail" 
foxes  any  more  for  the  day.  Hounds  were  put  "in  coupUng 
irons"  and  then  in  leash  and  went  dragging  Nelson,  Uncle 
Abner's  man,  to  the  wharf. 

Fastening  the  hounds  in  the  boat  house,  Nelson  pulled  the 
writer  and  Uncle  Abner  out  to  where  the  "Daisy"  lay  nodding 
to  her  anchor  buoy.  He  left  us  on  board  to  make  sail  while  he 
returned  to  the  boat  house  for  the  hounds,  which  were  quite 


Fox  Hunting  in  New  England  61 

load  enough  for  the  Daisy's  small  dingey.  The  Daisy  was  a 
"cat"  rigged  yacht,  about  sixteen  feet  water  line  and  twenty 
feet  over  all  and  seven  feet  beam.  Removing  the  sail  cover 
and  setting  the  mainsail  was  the  work  of  five  minutes,  and  by 
the  time  the  hounds  were  alongside  everything  was  ready  for 
letting  go  our  mooring. 

Uncle  Abner  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  stern,  with  tiller  and 
main  sheet  in  hand,  Nelson  had  removed  the  couplings,  and  no 
sooner  did  the  dingey  touch  alongside  than  tlie  hounds  began 
springing  aboard.  "I^et  go  forward,"  said  Uncle  Abner,  as  by 
a  quick  turn  of  the  rudder,  he  caused  the  Daisy's  mainsail  to 
fill.  Nelson  crawled  aboard,  making  the  dingey  fast  as  he  came. 

What  a  delightful  sail!  What  a  perfect  autumn  day!  the 
sun  had  but  lately  risen ;  the  first  gentle  breeze  of  the  morning 
was  stirring  and  came  to  us  loaded  with  savoury  odors  of  a 
piny  birchen  flavour. 

AVith  one  short  tack,  we  presently  arrive  under  the  lee  of  a 
projecting  headland.  The  Daisy  is  brought  up  into  the  wind, 
down  comes  the  mainsail,  and  as  her  headway  is  nearly  gone, 
Nelson  lets  go  the  anchor. 

Hounds  had  been  put  in  couples  and  the  leash  made  fast  to 
a  cleat  in  the  centreboard.  Nelson  puts  Uncle  Abner  and  his 
guest  ashore  and  returns  for  the  hounds.  iMeanwhile,  Uncle 
Abner  stations  the  writer  some  way  up  the  liill  and  moves  off 
to  take  up  a  similar  ])osition  for  himself  some  forty  rods  away. 
What  a  beautiful  wood,  free  from  underbrush,  the  great 
spreading  tree  tops  in  the  flood  tide  of  autumn,  forming  a 
glorious  canopy  of  yellow  and  gold!  The  leaves  were  still  wet 
with  the  dews  of  the  morning,  so  we  came  to  our  station  without 
disturbing  a  single  resident  of  the  wood.  "What  an  ideal  day 
for  gunning,"  the  squirrels  were  chattering,  like  gossiping 
fish  waives  on  a  market  day.  The  crows  were  collecting  in  a 
portion  of  the  wood  farther  on.  We  tried  the  sights  of  our 
guns  on  a  circling  hawk.    Several  honey  bees  went  past,  all  in 


62  The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hoimd 

the  same  direction  or  the  opposite.  How  Nelson  is  ever  to  man- 
age the  hounds  alone  in  that  little  dingey  and  get  them  ashore 
with  their  combined  eagerness  and  impatience  was  what  we 
were  tliinking  of  when  his  cheery  wliistle  sounded  down  among 
the  willows  in  the  low  land  along  the  lake. 

Tliis  told  us  he  was  ready  to  liberate  the  hounds  and  an 
answering  "Toot!  toot!"  from  Uncle  Abner's  horn  followed. 
Instantly  all  the  wood  folks  stopped  to  hsten  and  a  stillness 
settled  over  the  forest  that  you  could  feel.  Oh !  those  dreadful 
delightful  moments,  when  every  nerve  in  your  body  is  listening, 
doubting,  hoping  as  well  as  your  ears  for  the  challenging 
note  of  a  hound.  You  know  they  are  driving  at  their  work  with 
all  their  pent  up  energy  and  force.  Still,  what  a  contrast  is 
the  commotion  in  your  mind  to  the  stillness  of  this  mighty 
forest.  Think? — no,  you  cannot  think.  All  your  nerve  and 
brain  force  is  waiting  to  serve  and  think  when  the  supreme 
moment  comes. 

Was  it  a  wliimper  or  a  jay?  Yes,  it  was  a  whimper  and 
a  challenge.  For  this  relief  much  thanks,  your  mind  seems 
clearer  now.  Then  you  recall  it  was  the  voice  of  a  young  hound 
and  remember  a  youngster  is  in  the  party  and  is  probably 
chasing  a  chipmunk  up  a  tree.  It  must  have  been  a  false  alarm 
because  notliing  more  comes  of  it.  Presently  the  business  of 
the  day  goes  on  again  among  all  the  families  of  the  wood. 

What  if  a  fox  should  come  along  now  and  you  should  miss 
him?  This  kind  of  fox  hunting  was  entirely  new  to  the  writer. 
All  that  Uncle  Abner  had  vouchsafed  to  say  by  way  of  putting 
him  right  was,  "Now  all  you  have  got  to  do  is  to  stand  still  in 
your  tracks  and  don't  let  a  fox  slip  past  you."  Isn't  it  about 
time  a  hound  gave  tongue?  The  writer  began  to  relax  liis 
vigilance  and  think,  when — but  he  is  ashamed  to  confess  it — 
a  fox  ran  right  past  him.  At  first  sight  he  was  not  ten  yards 
away.  Bang  ! !  the  leaves  flew  up  from  the  ground  at  the  end  of 
Mr.  Revnard's  brush.    Bang!  a  cleaner  miss  never  was  made. 


FolV  Hunting  in  New  England  63 

Just  then  came  the  deep  bay  of  a  hound  and  presently  the 
wood  was  full  of  it,  but  what  an  awful  thing  had  happened. 
The  writer's  chagrin  was  complete,  he  was  nearly  run  over  by 
a  fox  and  missed  him.  On  come  the  hounds  charging  right  past 
him  and  when  he  finally  came  out  of  his  trance,  fox,  hounds  and 
all  were  out  of  his  sight. 

Nelson  came  running  up.  Would  the  wi'iter  have  courage 
to  tell  the  truth  when  asked  if  he  had  seen  the  fox?  But  Nelson 
saved  him  the  trouble,  by  saying,  "Look  sharp,  he  may  be 
back  here  in  a  few  moments,"  and  on  he  went  to  the  crown  of 
the  hill.  This  reminded  the  writer  to  load  his  gun  again.  He 
had  learned  his  first  lesson  in  the  New  England  style  of  fox 
hunting;  i.  e. — when  you  are  on  a  hunt  you  must  be  in  the 
game  with  all  your  wits  from  the  very  first.  A  fox  doesn't  wait 
for  hounds  to  chase  him  out  of  covert,  certainly  not,  as  the 
writer  well  knew,  from  the  riding-to-hound  standpoint.  But 
there  was  the  trouble,  for  in  hunting  a  fox  by  riding  to  hounds 
your  movements  all  depend  on  the  hounds,  in  shooting  your 
fox  ahead  of  the  hounds  it  is  the  fox  you  must  think  about  re- 
gardless of  the  hounds.  The  hounds  were  gone  an  hour  when 
we  heard  them  coming  back.  By  this  time  the  cold  perspira- 
tion stage  that  the  writer  had  found  himself  in,  had  subsided; 
he  had  done  a  lot  of  thinking  and  had  given  some  real  close  at- 
tention to  hunting.  He  felt  it  would  be  a  smart  fox  that  would 
play  that  trick  on  him  a  second  time. 

Bang!  went  Uncle  Abner's  gun.  It  never  spoke  but  once 
and  Mr.  Fox  never  went  the  length  of  himself  after.  Hounds 
came  up,  we  ate  some  lunch,  while  Nelson  took  off  the  pelt, 
mask  and  brush  and  rewarded  the  hounds  for  their  toil. 

No  allusion  was  made  to  the  writer's  worse  than  miss  and 
he  let  it  rest  until  the  time  came  to  talk  it  all  over  in  the  evening, 
by  a  cheery  grate  fire,  a  pan  of  a])plcs  and  a  pitcher  of  cider. 

Fortunately,  perhaps,  for  the  visitor's  peace  of  mind,  he 
redeemed  himself  somewhat  in  the  afternoon,  shooting  over 


64         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Liver  and  Bacon,  but  that  is  in  pickle  for  another  story.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  it  was  altogether  as  glorious  a  day's  sport  as  the 
most  exacting  could  wish — yachting,  fox  hunting  and  shoot- 
ing all  in  one  day,  and  best  of  all  the  companionship  of  a  New 
England  country  gentleman,  and  all  round  sportsman  of  the 
real  old  sort. 


To  Harry  Petrie,  Denver,  Colo. 

Of  all  the  good  fellmcs  I  ever  have  met 
The  Westerner  discounts  them  all. 
No  better  breed  for  all  the  year  round. 
Ever  rode  a  cayuse  or  cheered  on  a  hound. 
Or  rounded  a  steer  in  the  fall. 


WITH  HORSE  AND  HOUNDS  ON  THE  WESTERN 
PLAINS 

JACK    RABBIl— COYOTE    AND    WOLF    HUNTING — THE    SPORTING 
PARSON — WESTERN    AVAYS — A   THOROUGHBRED    SPORTSMAN. 

OVER  all  the  great  plains  and  cattle  grazing  countries 
of  the  United  States,  from  the  IMississippi  to  the  Rockies, 
from  Canada  to  the  Gulf  of  jNIexico,  Jack  rabbits  are  found 
nearly  everpvhere. 

Coyotes  are  plentiful,  and  the  wolf,  though  greatly  re- 
duced in  numbers  and  range,  still  has,  like  the  Indian,  reserva- 
tions where  he  continues  to  live,  if  not  to  flourish.  In  whatever 
neighbourhood,  community  or  colony  you  find  one  of  these 
three  families,  there  you  will  also  find  some  good,  local  hunting 
blood,  with  a  few  good  dogs,  well  adapted  to  the  locality,  and 
any  amount  of  genuine  hospitality. 

You  occasionally  find  an  enthusiast  who  docs  nothing  but 
hunt  all  winter  and  notliing  but  think  and  talk  about  it  all  sum- 
mer; but  for  the  most  part  hunting  on  the  plains  is  done  as  a 
recreation  and  is  indulged  in  whenever  the  spirit  moves,  or  a 


66         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

friend  or  a  stranger  comes  along  who  expresses  a  desire  to  see 
the  sport. 

The  Jack  rabbit  needs  no  introduction,  except  to  say  he  is 
not  a  rabbit  at  all  but  a  hare.  He  resembles  the  rabbit  in  build, 
but  is  about  twice  as  large.  He  does  not  burrow  like  a  rabbit, 
but  breeds  above  ground  and  when  pursued,  seldom,  if  ever, 
takes  to  ground  even  in  a  rabbit  or  badger  country,  where 
burrows  are  most  numerous.  The  coyote  is  the  outlaw  and  sca- 
venger of  the  plains;  he  lives  on  rabbits  which  he  tracks  by 
scent  like  a  dog.  He  picks  the  bones  of  all  unfortunate  cattle 
whose  lives  come  to  an  end  wliile  afield. 

He  is  about  half  way  between  a  fox  and  a  wolf  and  re- 
sembles one  quite  as  much  as  the  other.  He  has  not  the  cun- 
ning of  the  former,  the  opinion  of  some  of  my  coyote  friends 
to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.  Like  the  wolf,  he  is  a  coward, 
but  becomes  bold  and  aggressive  when  in  bands.  They  are 
generally  found  separate  when  hunting  their  smaller  prey, 
such  as  rabbits  and  prairie  dogs,  but  when  hunger  is  upon  them 
they  organise,  as  in  guerrilla  warfare,  and  will  pull  down  a  calf 
or  a  yearhng,  or  even  a  bullock  or  cow,  that  is  too  sickly  or 
weak  to  resist  them. 

Mr.  Harry  Petrie,  who  has  a  ranch  near  Denver,  lost 
twenty-seven  yearhng  heifers  in  one  season,  that  were  pulled 
down  by  coyotes.  This  turned  INIr.  Petrie's  milk  of  human 
kindness  to  wormwood  and  gall.  He  bought  some  nonde- 
script dogs  of  foxhound  extraction  to  begin  with;  these  he 
gradually  weeded  out  and  in  their  places  has  one  of  the  best 
packs  of  pure  greyhounds  for  coyote  hunting  in  Colorado. 
From  hunting  his  foe  for  revenge  he  now  hunts  him  for  sport. 
Although  he  has  taken  from  twenty-five  to  fifty  head  of  coyo- 
tes a  year  for  the  last  ten  years  he  still  remembers  the  death  of 
his  Herefords.  He  says,  "It  does  me  more  good  than  a  feed 
of  oats  to  see  a  coyote  pulled  down." 

When  pressed  by  hounds  a  coyote  usually  runs  to  others  of 


With  Horse  and  Hounds  on  the  Western  Plains      67 

his  tribe  with  a  view  of  banding  together  so  that  when  the  hand 
to  hand  contest  comes  on,  the  fight  will  be  in  their  favour.  If, 
in  these  chases,  two  or  three  coyotes  find  themselves  pressed 
by  a  single  hound  they  turn  on  liim  and  his  life  is  only  rescued 
by  bringing  on  the  pack. 

]Mr.  Petrie  has  had  several  hounds  killed  by  being  led  into 
such  a  trap  and  has  many  times  saved  the  lives  of  others  by 
coming  to  the  rescue  or  sending  in  a  timely  shot  from  his  six 
shooter.  The  coyote  alone,  as  before  stated,  is  a  coward,  but 
when  finally  overtaken  he  puts  up  a  fight  that  would  tickle 
an  Irishman  to  death. 

We  need  not  dwell  on  his  habits  more,  but  leave  it  to  the 
chase  itself  to  bring  out  his  most  pronounced  features.  As 
to  the  wolf,  he  is  well  understood  by  everyone.  What  boy  has 
not  read  all  about  wolves  and  how  they  band  for  attack  ?  Who 
has  not  seen  pictures  of  them  pursuing  a  horse  and  cutter  on  a 
stormy  night,  where  the  horse  was  being  driven  for  dear  life 
to  esca])e;  or  where  their  jiursuit  has  been  stoi)ped  by  shooting- 
one  of  the  gang,  which  the  others  stopped  to  devour? 

An  occasional  magazine  article  and  personal  reminiscence 
of  western  men  had  been  coming  to  the  writer  for  some  time  as 
to  Jack  rabbit,  coyote  and  wolf  hunting  with  horse  and  hound, 
in  some  parts  of  the  Western  States,  and  he  thought  he  would 
like  to  include  a  chapter  or  two  on  tliis  form  of  the  chase.  To 
accomplish  this  he  made  a  hunting  tour  through  Colorado  and 
Kansas,  that  he  might  see  the  game  with  his  own  eyes  and  be 
able  to  give  his  personal  experiences  and  impressions.  They 
may  prove  unsatisfactory  to  his  western  friends,  whose  ideas 
and  views  are  somewhat  at  variance  in  different  districts,  and 
who  maj'  fail  to  understand  how  coyote  hunting  in  one  part  of 
the  State  differs  from  that  in  another.  The  writer  does  not  pre- 
tend to  give  the  best  way,  but  to  tell  what  he  saw,  as  he  saw  it. 
He  had  no  idea,  however,  of  the  extent  of  tliis  sport,  which  one 
in  the  East  hears  so  little  about.     The  reason  for  this  is  that 


68         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

there  are  very  few  organised  clubs  with  regular  meets  and  that 
the  hunting  of  this  nature  is  done  with  private  or  trencher-fed 
packs  (hounds  from  several  different  owners  joined  for  a  chase) 
which  abound  wherever  game  of  tliis  kind  is  found. 

The  way  in  which  it  all  came  about  was  so  characteristic 
of  western  sportsmen  and  western  hospitahty  that  we  can- 
not do  better  perhaps  than  take  the  reader  along  from  the 
beginning. 

On  being  introduced  to  Mr.  Grubb,  a  noted  ranchman  of 
Colorado,  the  writer  inquired  after  the  game  of  Colorado,  in 
general,  and  Jack  rabbit,  coyote  and  wolf  hunting  in  particu- 
lar. "Look  here,"  replied  Mr.  Grubb,  "you  just  drop  a  line 
to  Parson  Uzel,  of  Denver;  he  is  the  man  you  ought  to  see, 
he  is  not  only  a  great  sportsman  but  one  of  the  greatest 
ministers  of  the  West.  What  denomination?  Oh!  No  par- 
ticular denomination;  he  just  preaches.  Built  a  great  church 
wliich  is  filled  every  Sunday  with  miners,  cowboys  and  the 
poorer  classes  of  Denver.  He  is  father,  mother,  brother  and 
sister  to  the  whole  town,  as  well  as  to  the  great  mining  camps 
at  Cripple  Creek,  Idaho  Springs,  etc.  He  plays  fair  and 
gives  his  people  square  deals  every  time  and  preaches  practi- 
cal, every  day  religion.  Every  year  about  this  time  or  just 
before  Christmas  he  organises  a  Jack  rabbit  hunt  and  goes 
out  where  they  are  so  numerous  as  to  be  a  pest  and  clears 
up  the  country  and  returns  to  town  with  five  to  seven  thousand 
Jack  rabbits.  This  is  liis  yearly  Christmas  to  the  labouring 
classes,  and  especially  the  poor.  If  you  want  any  information 
write  him."  "What  is  his  address?"  inquired  the  writer.  "Oh! 
I  don't  know,  just  direct  to  Parson  Uzel;  everybody  knows 
him.  As  to  coyotes,  whatever  you  do,  drop  in  on  Harry 
Petrie,  of  the  Union  Stock  Yards,  when  you  go  to  Denver. 
He  has  the  best  pack  of  greyhounds  for  coyote  hunting  in 
Colorado.  He  is  a  thoroughbred  and  if  you  have  never  ridden 
to  greyhounds  on  the  plains,  he  will  give  you  the  time  of  your 


JVith  Horse  and  Hounds  on  the  Western  Plains      69 

life.  Introduction — you  don't  need  any,  but  if  you  think  you 
must  have  something,  just  tell  him  Gruhb  sent  you." 

In  due  time  came  the  following  from  Parson  Uzel.  "Re- 
playing to  your  esteemed  favour,  would  say  you  can  have  any 
quantity  of  Jack  rabbit  or  coyote  hunting  near  Denver,  and 
I  will  be  pleased  to  have  you  join  our  annual  shooting  party 
after  Jack  rabbits  which  usually  takes  place  this  month,  and 
if  you  decide  to  come  on  we  wll  try  and  arrange  to  have  it 
take  place  at  a  time  that  will  suit  your  convenience." 

Who  could  resist  such  a  letter  as  this?  Well,  it  touched 
a  weak  spot  somewhere  in  the  writer's  anatomy,  and  he  went. 

Arriving  at  Denver,  Parson  Uzel,  as  every  one  calls  him, 
proceeded  to  put  me  right.  We  started  out  together  and  in 
less  than  two  hours  I  had  been  introduced  to  the  best  sport- 
ing element  of  the  city,  from  the  Judge  of  the  Sui)reme  Court, 
to  a  gunsmith,  from  bank  presidents  to  ranch  owners,  from 
greyhound  fanciers  and  coursing  men  to  cowboys  whom  we 
happened  to  meet  on  the  street. 

That  evening  there  was  a  general  round-up  of  the  hunt- 
ing talent  and  the  following  programme  was  decided  upon. 

The  next  day,  I  was  to  go  Jack  rabbit  hunting  with  the 
Bartel  Brothers'  noted  pack  of  greyhounds;  the  day  following, 
visit  Cripple  Creek  mining  camp  and  have  a  day  with  the 
Colorado  Hunt  Club  after  coj'ote;  then,  on  my  return  to 
Denver,  IVIr.  Harry  Petrie  was  to  take  me  to  a  ranch  near 
Kit  Carson  for  two  days  coyote  hunting.  In  the  meantime  the 
parson  would  make  arrangements  for  the  annual  Jack  rabbit 
round-up  at  Lemar,  the  planning  of  wliich  was  at  once  set 
on  foot. 

As  to  wolf  hunting,  the  parson  took  me  to  a  taxidermist 
who  suggested  two  packs  of  hounds  in  Kansas.  From  there 
we  went  to  the  Santa  Fe  R.  R.  office,  and  after  introducing 
me  to  the  manager,  the  parson  said,  "My  friend  wants  some 
wolf  hunting  and  we  hear  of  a  pack  doing  good  work  at 


70         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Buckley  (Kansas)  on  your  line.  Would  you  mind  having 
the  wire  touched  to  your  station  agent  at  Buckley  for  more 
positive  information?"  Then  we  went  to  another  railroad 
to  make  arrangements  for  the  annual  Jack  rabbit  round-up. 
When  we  went  in  the  manager,  at  the  sight  of  the  parson, 
held  up  both  hands.  Seeing  this  the  parson,  pointing  his 
forefinger  at  the  official,  said,  "We  want  three  sleepers  next 
INIonday  night  and  a  dining  car  for  Lemar."  (Lemar  being 
a  small  station  with  no  hotel  accommodations  it  was  necessary 
to  take  bed  and  board  in  this  way  for  about  one  hundred 
persons  for  the  annual  hunt,  with  a  baggage-car  to  bring 
back  the  game).  "It  is  yours  to  command,"  said  the  genial 
official.  I  mention  this  to  give  the  reader  a  little  fuller  in- 
troduction to  the  parson  and  an  insight  into  western  hos- 
pitahty.  They  go  about  it  in  a  way  that  is  both  charming 
and  delightful.  Parson  Uzel  is  the  Heniy  Ward  Beecher 
of  Colorado. 

"Been  here  nineteen  years,"  said  the  parson.  "When  I 
was  ready  to  build  this  church  (a  very  fine  modern  building 
seating  over  a  thousand),  I  wrote  a  letter  to  some  of  my 
sporting  friends,  ranchmen  and  miners,  and  they  all  responded 
nobly.  I  went  to  the  bank  presidents  of  the  city,  and  asked 
each  for  a  thousand  dollars,  and  I  never  asked  twice.  The 
contributions  came  in  from  ten  cents  to  ten  thousand  dollars. 
Then,"  said  the  parson,  opening  a  door  that  led  into 
the  beautiful  audience  room  of  the  church,  "tliis  is  the 
result." 

The  writer  never  asked  the  denomination  and  he  doubts 
if  either  the  church  or  the  parson  has  any  creed,  but  he  is 
inclined  to  tliink  whatever  name  it  goes  by,  it  is  an  every  day 
denomination  of  every  day  religion,  conducted  on  practical 
lines,  by  a  practical  man  Avho  reaches  the  very  class  that  most 
sectarian  churches  reijel. 

Speaking  of  practical  religion,  when  President  Roosevelt 


E    l»*-^4 

1 

With  Horse  and  Hounds  on  the  Western  Plains      71 

met  the  Rough  Riders  in  a  reunion  in  Colorado  last  year. 
Parson  Uzel  was  asked  to  deliver  the  address. 

He  dwelt  on  the  real  hravery  of  the  men  who  carried  for- 
ward the  anmiunition ;  the  men  who  carried  the  wounded  from 
the  field ;  the  night  pickets,  and  all  others  who  were  exposed  to 
fire,  without  taking  part  in  the  engagement.  "This  required 
real  courage,"  contended  the  parson:  "These  are  the  real 
heroes  of  a  battle,  these  are  the  men  and  boys  to  whom  I  take 
off  my  hat  with  more  profound  respect  than  to  the  General 
himself,  who  leads  the  charge." 

This  so  pleased  our  sportsman  President  that  he  went  on 
the  platform  and  said,  "That's  the  kind  of  talk  I  like  to  hear, 
but  not  everj'one  is  sportsman  enough  to  admit  it." 

No  wonder  Colonel  Roosevelt,  like  King  Edward  VII,  is 
so  thoroughly  loved  and  respected  by  the  people.  He  is  first 
and  last  and  all  the  time  a  genuine  sportsman.  Play  fair 
and  fair  play  are  his  cardinal  virtues.  Snobbishness  is  foreign 
to  his  nature.  Thus  the  executive  mansion  has  been  con- 
sistently graced  by  a  democratic  man,  selected  by  a  democratic 
people  to  preside  over  a  democratic  nation. 

Long  live  Colonel  Roosevelt!  Long  live  his  example  as 
a  President,  as  a  sportsman,  and  as  a  man! 


"So  from  their  kennels  rush  the  joyous  pack; 
A  thousand  zvanton  gaieties  express." 

SorERVILE. 

VI 
JACK  RABBIT  HUNTING  WITH  GREYHOUNDS 

"in     the     beginning" MESSES.     BABTEL     BROTHERS'     FAMOUS 

PACK — THE     MOST     BEAUTIFUL    DOG    SHOW     ON     EARTH — 
COYOTE   HUNTING  AT   COLORADO  SPRINGS. 

npHE  good  book  says  "in  the  beginning  God  created 
•*■  the  Heavens  and  the  Earth."  When  coursing  men  wish 
to  tell  you  how  long  ago  it  was  that  the  chase  of  the  rabbit 
and  hare  began,  they  use  the  same  form  of  speech.  They 
saj',  "In  the  beginning,  the  lord  made  a  Rabbit  and  when 
He  looked  upon  him  He  said,  'Very  good.'  "  It  was  dis- 
covered that  this  new  creature  had  an  unusual  turn  of  speed; 
this  suggested  a  similar  animal  to  be  especially  adapted  for 
running,  hence  the  Hare.  Although  the  rabbit  was  himself 
something  of  a  sprinter  the  hare  could  run  rings  all  about 
him,  and  soon  "streaked  if  out  of  sight  and  bounds.  To 
prevent  a  recurrence  of  this  streaking  business  the  greyhound 
was  invented,  wath  just  enough  speed  to  overtake  and  turn 
the  hare  back  on  his  track,  thus  keeping  liim  in  view  and  from 
racing  out  of  bounds.  This  the  coursing  men  say  was  the 
origin  of  the  rabbit,  the  hare,  the  greyhound  and  the  chase. 
It  also  accounts  for  man  himself,  who  according  to  the  same 
authorities  was  built  to  enjoy  the  sport  and  to  pass  it  along 
down  the  generations  to  the  end  of  time. 


Jack  linhhit  Hunting   With  (irci/lioinidn  73 

In  claiminpf  all  this  and  more  as  the  true  history  of  the 
heginning  of  the  chase  the  writer  mereh'-  wishes  to  voice  tlie 
sentiments  and  traditions  of  coursing  men  and  greyhound 
fanciers  the  world  over.  It  is  harely  possible,  however,  that 
somewhere  along  down  the  line  of  traditional  descent,  some 
entluisiastic  lovers  of  the  chase  may  have  "said  more  than 
their  prayers,"  and  that  some  allowances  must  be  made  for 
the  inaccuracy  that  invariably  creeps  into  all  traditions  and 
history.  Nevertheless,  there  is  an  abundance  of  proof  that 
the  greyhound  is  one  of  the  oldest,  if  not  the  oldest,  family 
of  the  canine  race.  It  is  believed  l)y  many — Darwin  not- 
M-ithstanding — that  the  greyhound  is  the  original  stock  from 
whence  all  other  branches  of  the  race  descended.  They  are 
certainly  not  a  modification  of  any  other  known  species  of 
family.  It  is  a  well  authenticated  fact,  also,  that  coursing 
the  hare  was  a  favourite  sport  with  our  fathers,  centuries 
before  the  good  news  came  to  earth  that  "a  child  was  born." 
Yes,  ages  before  this  our  fathers  cheered  on  the  chase  as  we 
are  cheering  it  on  to  this  day.  It  may  be  a  weakness  perhaps 
in  coursing  men  to  dwell  as  they  do  on  the  antiquity  of  their 
favourite  sport,  but  it  is,  after  all,  a  happy  reflection,  to  know 
we  are  pursuing  a  game  that  our  ancestors  ])layed  at  centuries 
before  Rome  was  born;  and  still  the  grand  old  sport  goes  on 
and  its  followers  of  to-day  are  living  over  and  over  again  the 
glorious  days  of  their  fathers,  while  ])reserving  to  the  genera- 
tions yet  unborn  the  customs  and  traditions   of  the   chase. 

Xenophon  (400  B.  C),  we  are  told,  left  a  vivid  descrip- 
tion of  hunting  the  hare,  and  a  younger  Xenophon,  evidently 
a  'chip  off  the  old  block,'  has  laid  down  the  following  rules, 
which  show  there  were  real  sportsmen  two  thousand  years 
ago.    He  says: 

"Whoever  courses  with  greyhounds  should  neither  slip 
them  near  the  hare,  nor  more  than  a  brace  at  a  time,  for 
though  the  hare  is  remarkably  swift-footed  and  has  often 


74         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

beaten  many  dogs,  yet,  being  started  from  her  form,  she 
cannot  but  be  fluttered  at  heart  and  territied  at  the  hallooing 
and  the  hounds  pressing  close  upon  her;  and  in  this  way 
many  a  noble  hare  has  often  ignobly  perished  without  an 
effort,  showing  no  diversion  worth  mentioning."  This  is  quite 
true  of  rabbits  and  hares  in  general,  but  a  Jack  rabbit  on  the 
plains  of  Colorado  needs  no  such  law  or  start  before  hounds 
to  give  sportsmanlike  sport. 

Goldin's  translation  of  Ovid  gives  the  following  vivid  de- 
scription of  a  chase. 

"1  gat  me  to  the  knap 
Of  this  same  hill,  and  there  behelde  of  this  strange  course  the 

hap. 
In  which,  the  beste  seems  one  lohile  caught,  and  ere  a  man 

tcoiild  thinke 
Doth  qiiicMy  gin  the  grewnd  the  slip,  and  from  his  biting 

shrinke; 
And,  like  a  rcily  fox,  he  runs  not  directly  out. 
Nor  makes  a  winlas  over  all  the  champion  fields  about. 
But,  doubling  and  indenting,  still  avoids  his  enemies'  lips. 
And  turning  short,  as  swift  about  as  spinning-wheele,  he  wips 
To  disappoint  the  snatch.    The  grewnd  pursuing  at  an  inch. 
Both  cote  him,  never  losing.    Continually  he  snatches 
In  vaine,  but  nothing  in  his  mouth  save  only  hair  he  catches." 

This  only  goes  to  show  it  is  the  same  good  old  game  and 
is  played  to-day  in  the  same  good  old  way. 

There  are  within  four  or  five  miles  of  Denver  in  any  di- 
rection plenty  of  Jack  rabbits,  and  the  Bartel  Brothers 
brought  out  their  best  hounds  to  show  us  how  the  sport  is 
managed. 

From  the  kennels,  the  most  reliable  hounds  go  in  couples; 
the  younger  element  in  shps  led  by  boys,  either  on  horse- 


Jack  Rahhit  IIitnliiKj   fVith  Grcijhuundti  15 

back  or  in  wagons,  or  with  a  bicycle.  Arriving  on  the  open 
prairie,  all  the  hounds  are  liberated.  The  reason  they  are 
so  securely  handled  while  in  town  is  that  they  are  liable  to 
sight  and  take  aCter  some  one's  pet  dog  or  cat  and  kill  it 
before  any  one  can  get  near  enough  to  stop  them.  These 
hounds  are  mostly  used  for  coursing  and  have  won  many  of 
the  highest  honours  at  the  annual  coursing  meets  in  the 
state.  However,  they  are  occasionally  taken  twenty-five  tc 
fifty  miles  out  of  town  for  a  special  day  after  coyote.  This 
is  certainly  the  finest  pack  of  greyhounds  the  writer  has  ever 
seen.  The  Bartel  Brothers  are  very  painstaking  breeders, 
and  have  combined  beauty,  quality  and  utihty  in  their  hound 
breeding  and  succeeded  at  it  as  well  if  not  better,  than  any 
other  hound  breeder  it  has  ever  been  the  writer's  good  fortune 
to  meet  in  xVmerica. 

There  is  an  erroneous  behef  common  to  hound  breeders 
in  America  that  a  hound  for  the  bench  show  is  one  thing, 
while  a  hound  for  coursing  is  another.  Just  because  it  some- 
times happens  that  an  inferior  looking  hound  wins  in  field 
trials  over  bench  winners,  many  men  have  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  beauty  and  sj^mmetry  and  quality  are  in  some 
way  antagonistic  to  utihty. 

The  Bartel  Bros,  have  demonstrated  the  falsity  of  this 
argument  and  have  proved  over  and  over  again  that  their 
best  winners  for  bench  prizes  have  repeatedly  carried  off  the 
highest  honours  in  a  three  days  coursing  trial.  Tliis  demon- 
strates so  forcibly  what  the  writer  has  been  most  stoutly 
contending,  that  he  cannot  refrain  from  calling  attention  to 
it  in  this  case. 

As  we  ride  along,  ]Mr.  Bartel  gives  us  most  glowing  ac- 
counts of  this  and  that  hound,  dwelling  upon  his  or  her 
principal  points  of  excellence  and  not  omitting,  in  equal  fair- 
ness, to  call  attention  to  their  faults.  This  is  the  fastest: 
that  one,  the  best  killer;  the  brindle  bitch  has  the  most  en- 


76         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

durance.  That  big  fawn  and  wliite  hound  is  best  at  sighting. 
Dolly  Varden  always  runs  just  back  of  Black  Peter,  who  is 
great  at  turning  the  hare,  Dolly  keeping  just  far  enough 
behind  to  receive  the  hare  when  turned.  She  makes  one 
grab  for  Jack's  loin,  and  throws  him  high  in  the  air  to  alight 
among  the  others.  This  "running  smart"  on  Dolly  Varden's 
part  excludes  her  from  field  coursing,  because  the  .hound 
that  turns  puss  is  given  more  credit  that  the  one  that  kills. 
So  one  hound  after  another  is  discussed.  Sometimes  the  talk 
runs  to  heredity.  "That's  the  grandson  of  the  greatest  hound 
I  ever  owned  and  he  is  as  near  perfection  as  I  ever  expect 
to  get  in  a  single  hound ;  he  has  won  a  number  of  bench  trials, 
but  unfortunately  he  inherits,  through  his  granddam,  faulty 
sight.  If  he  jumps  a  Jack  himself,  he  will  stay  by  him  to  the 
last,  but  if  any  other  hound  gets  the  start  of  him  he  loses 
interest  in  the  game  and  stops  as  soon  as  he  begins  to  tire." 
"This  looks,"  we  ventured  to  say,  "more  like  jealousy  than 
a  question  of  sight."  "Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Mr. 
Bartel,  "but  whatever  it  is,  good  as  he  is  individually,  I  will 
never  breed  from  liim  nor  sell  liim  to  anyone  else  to  breed 
from." 

The  writer  mentions  these  things  to  show  how  thoroughly 
alive  a  man  must  be  to  the  subject  of  breeding,  as  well  as 
how  intimately  he  must  know  the  characteristics  of  each  and 
every  member  of  the  pack,  and  back  of  all  that,  the  personal 
knowledge  of  the  faults  and  virtues  for  generations  before 
he  can  hope  to  make  a  permanent  success  of  hound  breeding, 
or  the  breeding  of  any  other  animal.  It  is  tliis  very  knowledge 
and  these  facts  that  have  made  the  breeding  of  domestic 
animals  so  successful  in  England,  where  breeds  come  down 
from  great-grandsire  to  great-grandson.  It  also  illustrates 
why  in  America  the  breeding  of  all  domestic  animals  is  still 
in  its  infancy.  We  are  a  new  people,  few  of  us  have  even 
fathers  before  us  who  bred  the  same  animals  that  we  are 


Jaclc  liahhit  Iluulnuj   With  (ircijhouiuJs  77 

trying  to  produce.  There  is  no  royal  road  to  success  in 
breeding,  all  the  rules  and  axioms  will  help  a  person  but  little 
if  they  do  not  know  the  animals  they  are  breeding  and  their 
progenitors,  as  well  as  they  know  the  members  of  their  own 
family.  Americans,  as  a  rule,  cannot  bear  to  spend  the  time 
to  acquire  tliis  training.  They  are  taken  with  a  fancy  for 
this  or  that  breed  of  dogs,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  and  they 
buy  the  best  that  money  can  produce  without  considering 
further.  Any  one  with  money  can  buy  a  string  of  winners, 
but  it  takes  an  artist,  it  takes  a  breeder,  to  produce  them. 
The  writer  has  several  times  visited  the  great  coursing  events 
in  England,  where  noted  greyhounds  from  every  part  of 
Great  Britain  were  assembled,  but  he  never  has  seen  in  any 
one  man's  stud,  so  many  high  class  hounds  as  are  owned  by 
Messrs.  Bartel  Brothers,  of  Denver,  Colorado. 

As  we  arrive  out  on  the  beautiful  open  plains,  the  hounds 
are  given  full  liberty.  What  a  beautiful  sight!  How  they 
jump  and  play  about  the  horses!  Such  agility,  such  grace, 
such  poetry  of  motion.  In  this  they  distance  all  other  four- 
footed  animals.  There  is  nothing  like  it.  A  grand  pack  of 
well  bred  foxhounds  is  a  sight  to  cheer  the  heart  of  any  man 
who  loves  a  dog,  or  any  other  animal  for  that  matter,  but 
a  ride  over  the  boundless  plains  with  a  pack  of  greyhounds 
is  the  finest  dog  show  on  earth. 

We  walk  our  horses  slowly  on  over  the  great  table  land 
covered  with  short  brown  buffalo  grass  that  affords  less  than 
half  concealment  for  INIr.  Jack  even  when  he  lies  as  flat  as 
he  can  make  himself  between  the  tufts  of  grass. 

His  brownish  grey  colour,  however,  makes  it  quite  im- 
possible for  man  or  hound  to  see  him  until  he  chooses  to  move 
and  when  he  does  move  he  goes  straight  away,  at  such  a  fear- 
ful gait  that  the  saying  "runs  Hke  a  streak,"  fits  him  exactly. 
Up  to  the  moment  he  is  "jumped"  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
hounds,  they  have  been  running  and  jumping  at  each  other  in 


78  TJie  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

an  aimless  sort  of  way.  Mr.  Bartel  is  in  the  midst  of  an 
account  of  how  Juno  lost  a  cup,  when  up  jumps  Mr.  Jack. 
The  hounds  take  an  instant  to  recognise  their  game.  They 
sjiring  to  their  chase,  away  go  our  mounts,  who  never  wait  to 
receive  the  word.  If  you  are  ready,  or  can  get  ready  on  the 
way,  all  right;  but  if  you  are  not  ready,  no  matter,  go  you 
must ;  for  you  must  remember  these  western  horses  can  begin 
running  from  a  standstill  and  they  know  the  game. 

First  one  hound  then  another  leads.  Dolly  Varden  is  work- 
ing for  her  usual  position  beliind  Black  Peter,  who  is  only  a  rod 
ahead  of  her.  On  and  on  goes  ]Mr.  Jack.  Hounds  and  horses 
skim  the  ground  like  a  flock  of  birds.  A  big  fawn  and  wliite 
hound  now  takes  the  lead.  A  few  rods  more  and  the  game  is 
done.  No !  you  make  a  mistake ;  ISIr.  Jack  makes  a  sudden  turn, 
.  the  hounds  go  on.  One  or  two  hounds  make  a  i:)ass  at  liim,  but 
he  dodges  right  back  through  the  hounds,  who  must  take  a  M'ider 
circle.  Finally  we  are  all  straightened  out  again  and  once  more 
the  race  is  on,  but  it  is  not  for  long.  Once  more  JNIr.  Jack  shps 
past  their  snapping  teeth,  but  this  time  Dolly  Varden  is  where 
she  wants  to  be  and  as  the  hare  doubles  again,  dodging  the 
other  hounds,  Dolly  turns  in  alongside  and  with  a  snap  of  her 
jaw  catches  INIr.  Jack  by  the  small  of  the  back  and  throws  liim 
feet  uppermost  high  above  her  head  only  to  light  in  the  very 
jaws  of  the  jiack,  that  now  have  their  sharp  noses  pointed  for 
their  game.  It's  all  over ;  Dolly  Varden,  having  done  the  trick 
to  her  satisfaction,  has  gone  on  for  a  rod  or  so  and  stretched 
herself  at  full  length  on  the  grass,  her  nose  to  the  breeze;  her 
lolling  tongue,  her  panting  sides  and  rolling  eyes,  tell  us  what 
the  effort  has  cost  her  in  wind  and  strength.  IMan,  horses, 
hounds  are  quite  content  to  rest  awhile.  'Twas  a  glorious 
charge,  and  as  beautiful  a  run  as  one  ever  could  wish  to  see. 

After  half  an  hour  we  are  moving  on  again  over  the  plains, 
until  three  Jack  rabbits  have  entered  the  preliminary  stage  to 
the  making  of  a  stew,  then  we  return  slowly  homeward,  tired 


Jack  liahhil   Iliiiitiiuj   With   (iiri/hoiind-s  79 

but  as  happy  as  we  are  tired.     Iluii'jfry:'     Awfully  huugry, 
and  with  appetites  to  shame  a  lumberman. 

"J  run.  sir.  tc///  please  j/ou  far  better  than  wine. 
The  further  ijou  (jallop,  the  better  you'll  dine." 

The  Colorado  Sprin-^s  Hunt  Club  is  quite  an  extensive 
organisation  with  a  membership  of  about  200.  Only  a  small 
portion  of  the  number,  however,  take  an  aetive  part  in  the 
chase.  A  more  ideal  country  to  ride  and  hunt  coyote  over 
cannot  be  imagined. 

The  regular  fixtures  of  the  club  are  Wednesdays  and  Satur- 
days. 

These  runs  take  place  on  the  great  plains  in  any  direction 
from  the  city  one  may  care  to  ride.  A  five  or  ten  mile  ride 
at  most  brings  you  to  the  game.  Once  a  month  the  club  send 
their  horses  and  hounds  out  fifteen  to  twenty-five  miles  by 
rail,  the  evening  before,  to  some  ranch  and  go  out  on  a  sjiecial 
train  in  the  morning  for  an  all  day's  hunt,  making  a  basket 
picnic  of  the  affair.  On  these  days  they  have  from  four  to 
six  runs,  and  half  as  many  kills.  They  picnic  on  the  ])lains 
wherever  noon  overtakes  them,  from  a  mess  wagon,  that  fol- 
lows the  hunt.  In  the  evening  they  return  to  town  by  the  same 
special  train,  or  in  a  special  car,  attached  to  some  regular  train. 
The  writer  just  missed  one  of  these  monthly  events  by  arriving 
at  Colorado  Springs  the  day  it  was  going  on.  The  genial 
master  and  owner  of  hounds,  ]Mr.  A.  B.  Nichols,  and  his  hunts- 
man, ]Mr.  J.  S.  Kenyon,  kindly  offered  to  take  the  writer  out 
for  a  sample  run  near  town  and  the  invitation  was  gladly 
accepted. 

With  a  day's  rest  for  the  hounds  after  "the  big  hunt" — as 
the  monthly  meet  is  called, — a  few  of  the  more  enthusiastic 
members  were  notified  of  the  "by  day"  run  and  the  next  morn- 
ing, at  7 :30,  we  mounted  our  horses  and  were  off  to  the  jilains. 


80         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

It  was  a  very  beautiful  daj'  and  the  ride  over  the  plains  was 
sometliing  never  to  be  forgotten. 

The  hounds  were  carried  in  a  wagon  especially  built  for  the 
purpose,  a  pair  of  white  coach  horses  to  draw  it,  and  a  smartly 
dressed  driver  on  the  box  to  manage  them. 

Arriving  on  the  plains,  the  Master  begins  riding  more  slowly 
while  the  hound  wagon  and  huntsman  go  on  some  forty  to 
eighty  rods  in  advance.  This  hound  wagon  is  kept  on  the  low 
land  as  much  as  possible  while  the  huntsman  rides  to  the  eleva- 
tions, anywhere  within  half  a  mile  of  the  hounds. 

There  are  holes  in  the  top  of  the  hound  wagon  through  wliich 
hounds  may  put  their  heads  and  thus  keep  a  constant  eye  on 
the  movements  of  the  huntsman. 

The  driver  operates  the  opening  of  the  door  in  the  back  end 
of  the  wagon  which  instantly  liberates  the  hounds,  whenever 
the  huntsman  lifts  his  hat  as  a  signal,  wliich  he  does  only  after 
he  has  gotten  as  close  up  to  the  game  as  possible. 

The  tactics  he  uses  in  getting  up  to  the  game  consist  in 
riding  about  liim  in  a  circular  way  as  if  riding  past  but  all 
the  time  he  is  shortening  the  circle.  The  curiosity  or  stupidity 
of  the  coyote  enables  the  huntsman  thus  to  come  witloin  forty 
or  eighty  yards,  when  at  the  first  symptoms  of  liis  taking  to 
run  the  huntsman  hfts  his  hat  and  rides  after  tlie  coyote.  The 
hounds  rush  on  to  the  huntsman,  Avho  is  usually  able  to  lead 
them  to  a  view  of  the  game,  and  the  chase  is  on.  Seeing  the 
huntsman  lift  his  hat  is  a  signal,  also,  for  the  riders  to  race.  A 
coyote  usually  runs  in  a  circle  at  first,  unless  pressed  too  hard. 
The  riders  are  generally  able  by  riding  to  the  right  or  left, 
as  indicated  by  the  direction  the  huntsman  is  taking,  to  come 
into  the  run  behind  the  hounds. 

On  tliis  open  plain  and  in  the  clear  transparent  air  the 
chase  is  nearly  always  in  full  view  from  start  to  finish.  Grey- 
hounds, as  everyone  familiar  with  the  breed  knows,  can  follow 
only  as  long  as  they  can  keep  their  game  in  view. 


Jack  liahhit   IIiiiitiiKj    With   (ini/lioiiiids  81 

This  pack  oi"  lioinuls  consists  of  six  couples  of  pure  grey- 
hounds, two  Russian  wolfhounds  and  two  Scotch  deer  or  stag 
hounds. 

The  greyhounds  are  decidedly  the  hest  all-round  hounds 
for  Jack  rabhits  and  for  coyote;  the  Scotch  deerhound  is  a 
good  fighter,  and  his  extra  weight  is  of  great  assistance  in 
pulling  down  the  game.  The  Russian  wolfhounds,  however, 
are  neither  as  fast  nor  do  they  have  the  endurance  of  the  grey- 
hound or  Scotch  staghound  and  they  seem  also  lacking  in 
courage,  seldom,  if  ever,  making  the  first  attack;  at  least  this 
is  Mr.  Kenyon's  experience.  The  writer  has  since  heard  from 
other  sources  that  Russian  wolfhounds  alone  are  not  partic- 
ularly satisfactory  after  coyote. 

"They  are  off,"  cries  the  ISIaster,  who  is  the  first  to  notice 
the  huntsman  lifting  his  hat,  and  our  horses  are  at  full  gallop 
from  the  very  first  stride.  They  knew  so  well  what  was  com- 
ing and  were  so  impatient  for  the  signal  that  the  start  was 
hardly  less  general  than  if  a  flag  had  fallen  before  them.  The 
writer  will  never  forget  that  gallop  over  the  plains.  The  short 
brown  buffalo  grass  made  excellent  footing  for  our  horses,  and 
the  way  they  raced  it  after  the  circling  greyhounds,  who  were 
but  a  rod  or  two  behind  their  game,  was  something  beautiful 
to  see,  and  something  delightful  to  remember. 

On  went  the  chase,  rising  and  falling  to  the  undulating 
plain,  a  streak  of  coyote  followed  by  six  streaking  greyhounds, 
that  seemed  to  fly  over  the  surface  of  the  plain  like  a  flock  of 
feeding  swallows.  The  riders  had  nothing  to  do  but  let  their 
horses  fly  after  them  as  fast  as  they  could  lay  their  feet  to 
the  sod,  and  keep  their  eyes  on  the  chase  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away,  the  distance  increasing  all  the  time  in  spite  of  our  horses' 
best  efforts. 

On  goes  the  coyote,  on  go  the  hounds!  Now  the  question  of 
endurance  begins  to  tell;  the  two  younger  hounds  begin  to 
lag  behind,  and  so  on  until  two  more  of  the  six  are  beginning 


82         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

to  fail,  but  two  others  are  racing  it  neck  and  neck  for  their 
game,  and  are  gaining,  surely  gaining.  What  a  race,  the  coyote 
is  taking  for  the  public  park;  can  he  ever  reach  the  wire  fenc- 
ing that  surrounds  it  ?  If  he  does  and  can  go  a  few  rods  farther, 
he  will  run  out  of  view  among  the  shrubs  and  rocks  and  the 
game  will  be  lost. 

The  two  leading  hounds  seem  to  take  in  the  situation  and  put 
on  their  last  ounce  of  steam  in  one  mighty  effort  to  reach  their 
game.  One  of  the  two  leading  hounds  is  beginning  to  lag  and 
there  is  an  open  space  of  a  rod  between  him  and  the  leader, 
who  is  now  but  a  few  feet  from  the  coyote's  brush.  Then  as  if 
the  coyote  had  run  himself  to  a  standstill,  the  grand  old  hound 
overtakes  and  catches  him  in  a  way  to  roll  him  over  but  his 
own  momentum  is  so  great  he  cannot  stop.  However,  hound 
number  two,  wliich  had,  as  Mr.  Kenyon  afterwards  exjjlained, 
purposely  lagged  behind,  was  on  to  the  coyote  before  he  could 
recover  his  feet.  By  this  time  the  leading  hound  had  returned 
to  take  a  hand  in  the  struggle.  In  a  moment  more  the  other 
hounds  joined  in  the  battle,  but  it  was  already  over.  With 
the  coyote  hanging  from  an  attendant's  saddle,  we  jog  back 
to  town,  in  ample  time  to  change  before  lunch  and  see  the  taxi- 
dermist who  was  to  mount  the  coyote's  head  for  the  wall,  and 
pelt  for  a  rug,  for  these  trophies  had  been  presented  to  the 
writer  as  a  souvenir  of  his  most  delightful  visit  at  Colorado 
Springs,  the  most  beautiful  citj''  of  all  the  great  plains. 


"And  ardent  we  pursue;  our  lah'ring  steeds. 
We  press,  "vce  urge;  till  once  the  summit  gain'd. 
PainfulUj  panting,  there  we  breathe  awhile; 
Then  like  a  foaming  torrent,  inuring  down 
Precipitant,  we  smoke  along  the  vale." 

Somen'ile. 

VII 

COYOTE  HUNTING  ON  THE  PLAINS  OF 
COLORADO 

THE  GRE.VT  PLAINS  AT  SUNRISE — RANCH  LIFE — THE  ANTELOPE 
CHASE — THE  OLD  CATTLEJIAN — A  GOOD  SHOT — THE  RIDE  OF 
THE  TENDERFOOT — ROPING  A  COYOTE. 

A  RMED  with  raihvaj^  passes  and  an  order  from  the  Divi- 
■^*-  sion  Superintendent  to  stop  the  Union  Pacific  night  ex- 
press at  Kit  Carson,  we  (Mr.  Petrie,  ]Mr.  Steepleton,  the 
writer,  and  six  of  JNIr.  l*etrie's  best  coyote  greyhounds)  left 
Denver,  full  of  hope  and  running  over  with  expectation.  "I 
shall  not  be  satisfied,"  said  Mr.  Petrie,  "if  we  come  back  with 
less  than  six  coyote  pelts.  For  the  last  thirteen  years  I  have 
been  promising  an  old  friend  and  ranchman  down  there  that 
I  Avould  bring  my  hounds  down,  and  give  the  coyotes  on  his 
ranch  a  roimd  trip  up  and  a  dance  worth  the  money." 

"The  thirteen  years,"  said  JNIr.  Steepleton,  "is  not  a  very 
good  number  to  go  on  for  luck,  besides,  to-morrow  is  the  13th  of 
December,  and  Kit  Carson  is  113  miles  from  Denver.  Also, 
we  are  starting  on  Friday.     That's  a  pretty  stiff  combination 


84         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

to  bank  against,  and  I  allow  you  all  will  have  to  beat  the  game 
a  whole  lot  to  win  out." 

The  writer  has  alreadj^  made  mention  of  INIr.  Petrie  and 
his  hounds.  Pie  needs  no  further  introduction  than  to  say 
he  is  the  general  manager  of  the  Union  Stock  Yards  at  Denver, 
and  Mr.  Steei^leton,  familiarly  known  as  "Steeplechase  Char- 
ley," is  Mr.  Petrie's  ranch  foreman.  Steepleton  had  come  on 
to  Denver  with  a  lot  of  fat  cattle  from  Mr.  Petrie's  own  herd. 
The  year  on  the  ranch  had  been  most  successful,  and  JNIr. 
Petrie,  wanting  an  excuse  to  keep  liis  foreman  with  him  for  a 
few  days,  hit  upon  this  coyote  hunt  as  the  means  of  killing 
two  birds  with  one  stone;  i.  e. — to  give  the  writer,  who  was  a 
tenderfoot  at  ranch  life,  and  his  old  cattleman,  a  bit  of  sport 
that  would  galvanise  the  former,  and  give  the  latter  something 
to  tell  the  iboys  about  when  he  returned  to  the  ranch.  INIr. 
Petrie  didn't  say  all  this,  but  putting  two  and  two  together, 
that's  about  the  way  it  ciphered  out. 

The  foreman's  dissertation  on  the  unlucky  13  was  passed 
by  Mr.  Petrie  in  silence.  Mr.  Petrie,  however,  looked  much 
as  if  he  w^as  making  a  mental  resolve  to  cram  that  super- 
stitious notion  down  the  old  cattleman's  throat  when  the 
proper  time  came. 

Finally  the  hounds  were  carefully  put  aboard  the  baggage 
car,  and  we  looked  for  a  place  in  the  smoker,  as  best  suited 
to  pass  away  the  night  from  9  p.  m.,  to  one  o'clock  the  next 
morning,  at  which  hour  we  were  to  land  at  Kit  Carson.  jNIr. 
Petrie  and  liis  foreman  talked  cattle  straight  away,  and  cross 
ways,  and  sideways  and  backwards.  Then  they  went  over 
the  ranch  both  cornerways  and  square,  then  more  cattle,  and 
ranch  and  cattle  together.  The  writer  went  to  sleep,  and 
when  he  woke  they  were  at  it  still.  It  was  very  evident  that 
although  Mr.  Petrie  was  fond  of  his  business  at  the  stock 
yards,  his  heart  was  on  the  ranch  where,  as  he  said,  he  had 
spent  the  happiest  days  of  liis  life.     His  own  ranch  was  in 


POOR  MR.   COYOTE 


THE  AUTHOR  WITH  THE   FII 


I      0Mlklfk^^^^-^ 


I 


Coyote  Hunting  on  the  Plains  of  Colorado  85 

tlie  "hill  and  bush"  country.     The  one  we  were  goins  to  was 
on  the  plains. 

Our  train  was  nearly  two  hours  late  on  arrival  at  Kit  Car- 
son. Our  host  had  left  a  lantern  to  meet  us.  Mr.  Petrie 
managed  the  six  hounds,  while  Steepleton  and  the  writer  came 
on  with  the  hand  baggage. 

Arriving  at  the  ranch,  we  went  into  a  small  detached  build- 
ing about  10  X  14,  in  which  we  found  a  lighted  lamp,  one 
double  bed  and  a  single  bed.  ]Mr.  Petrie,  in  the  meantime, 
had  found  a  stable  for  the  hounds  and  we  were  soon  turned  in. 
It  was  freezing  cold,  but  there  were  six  blankets  and  a  com- 
fortable over  us,  flannel  sheets  to  sleep  between,  a  straw  tick 
that  served  as  a  mattress,  and  a  network  of  ropes  that  did 
duty  in  lieu  of  springs. 

^Ve  were  called  up  before  the  sun.  It  was  hard  work,  but 
seeing  a  suiu-ise  over  the  great  ])lains  was,  to  the  writer,  worth 
all  the  effort  and  discomfort  of  the  trip.  To  come  to  such  a 
place  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  wake  up  in  the  morning 
with  a  great  undulating  jjlain  stretching  miles  away  in  every 
direction,  not  a  single  farm  house  or  a  rod  of  fence,  a  tree,  or 
a  shrub  even  in  sight. 

The  vastness  of  the  plains,  no  pen  has  ever  described  it. 
Plain,  plain,  everywhere  plain!  The  sunrise  was  like  one  at 
sea,  a  great  yellow-browii  sea  of  buffalo  grass  with  undula- 
tions that  rose  and  fell  like  the  swells  of  the  ocean,  but  nowhere 
a  break  to  the  evenness  of  the  horizon.  No  one  could  have  a 
more  interesting  or  more  fascinating  introduction  to  the  plains 
or  to  ranch  life  than  at  this  particular  spot,  and  in  this  peculiar 
way.  It  was  to  the  writer  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
impressive  sights  he  ever  beheld.  No  highways,  not  even  a 
trail.  If  you  wanted  to  go  anj^vhere,  you  steered  a  trackless 
course  across  the  plains  to  reach  there  by  the  straightest  line. 
The  ocean  is  vast,  but  it  is  ever  changing,  ever  in  motion.  It 
seldom  looks  the  same,  two  days  in  succession,  but  the  plain  is 


86         The  Hmiting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

one  immovable,  unchangeable,  sombre,  brown  sea, — still,  silent, 
vast.  It  makes  one  feel  so  small,  so  insignificant,  so  isolated 
— like  an  infinitesimal  speck  on  some  new  and  uninhabited 
planet.  It  seems  to  subdue  you,  quiet  you.  You  don't 
feel  like  talking.  A  man  cuts  a  very  small  figure  in  the 
middle  of  a  hundred  acre  lot.  Think  of  setting  him  down  in 
a  hundred  thousand  acre  field,  or  shall  I  say  a  hundred  milUon 
acre  field.  No  wonder  the  Westerner  comes  up  with  large 
ideas;  nothing  is  too  big  or  vast  for  him.  Broadmindedness 
is  one  of  his  many  virtues. 

Here  and  there,  in  whatever  direction  you  cast  your  eyes, 
you  see  detached  herds  of  grazing  cattle,  sometimes  a  single 
animal  with  miles  between  it  and  others,  then  bunches  number- 
ing from  several  dozen  to  as  many  hundred.  The  air  there — 
as  all  over  Colorado — is  wonderfully  clear  and  transparent, 
objects  miles  away  seemed  only  half  their  real  distance.  One 
could  see  cattle  at  a  distance  that  made  them  look  like  black 
spots  the  size  of  one's  hat.  What  a  beautiful  morning  it  was, 
clear  and  crisp  as  a  new  dollar  bill.  As  we  stood  admiring 
the  view  and  in  awe  of  its  vastness  and  stillness,  a  lusty  rooster 
calls  out,  and  behold  to  the  eastward,  comes  the  dawn  of  day; 
the  smaller  stars  go  out,  only  the  planets  are  left  to  burn. 
Again  the  herald  of  the  morning  calls  and  straightway  the 
silver  light  of  the  east  is  tinged  with  the  gold,  which  in  turn 
gives  way  to  a  ruddy  cast.  Then  with  more  assurance  still, 
the  barnyard  trumpet  sounds  the  final  call.  The  cur- 
tain of  the  morning  falls  aside  and  in  a  blazing  car  of  fire 
comes  forth — the  sun,  the  sun!  "Glory  and  beauty  of 
the  day." 

It  has  been  said  there  was  nothing  to  break  the  general 
evenness  of  the  horizon.  Wrong!  like  the  white  sails  of  a  ship 
at  sea,  whose  hull  is  below  the  horizon,  behold  the  majestic 
snow-capped  sunmiit  of  Pike's  Peak  over  a  hmidred  miles 
away. 


Coyote  JIuntiiKj  on  tlic  Plains  of  Colorado  87 

Now  we  notice  two  mounted  cowboys,  some  two  miles  dis- 
tant, bringing  in  a  drove  of  horses.  From  these  were  to  be 
selected  the  ones  the  six  cowboys  were  to  ride  on  their  regular 
work,  and  enough  for  our  host  and  his  visitors  in  the  chase  of 
the  coyote.  Each  cowboy  has  five  horses  which  he  rides  in 
turn.  The  whole  lot  are  corralled  every  morning.  The  horses 
which  are  to  be  used  next  are  caught  or  roped,  and  saddled 
ready  for  the  day.  The  others  are  then  liberated  to  roam  at 
will  until  the  following  morning.  One  day's  work  and  five 
days'  rest.  Their  one  work  day  is  very  severe,  they  are  under 
saddle  from  sunrise  until  nearly  dark.  The  saddle  weighs 
from  forty  to  fifty  pounds  and  the  distance  covered  is  very 
great. 

Now  we  look  about  at  the  ranch  buildings.  In  addition  to 
the  little  detached  one-story  box  building,  which  we  occupied 
for  the  night,  there  was  a  similar  building  occupied  by  the  cow- 
boys of  the  ranch.  A  building  about  10  x  14  with  four  bunks 
on  each  side  wall,  two  upper  and  two  lower,  and  two  at  the 
end  of  the  room  opposite  the  door  and  window.  These  were 
the  sleeping  quarters  for  the  regular  ranch  hands  that  vary 
from  six  to  eight,  wth  an  extra  bunk  or  two  for  visiting  cow- 
boys, who  may  chance  to  be  in  that  neighbourhood  looking  for 
stray  cattle^ 

The  owner's  quarters  were  also  built  one  story  high  of  sod, 
which  is  cut  from  the  spot  into  blocks  about  4  x  8  x  12  inches. 
These  blocks  or  sods  of  earth  were  laid  up  like  so  many  stones 
or  bricks,  in  a  thin  mud  (mortar)  of  the  same  material.  The 
walls  themselves  are  about  8  inches  thick,  studded,  lathed  and 
plastered  on  the  inside.  This  main  building  contained  three 
rooms,  a  kitchen  or  mess-room,  and  two  bedrooms,  one  for  the 
])roprietor,  the  other  for  the  ranch  foreman  and  his  wife,  who 
in  tliis  case  cooked  for  all. 

Another  detached  10x14  earth  building  was  devoted  to 
provision,  general  stores  and  ranch  su])plies.    The  stables,  also 


88  The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

of  earth,  were  low  and  formed  one  side  of  a  corral  made  of  old 
railroad  ties  set  on  end  and  close  together.  Tliis  was  for  horses. 
The  cattle  corral,  or  branding  pen,  joins  the  horse  corral  and 
is  also  circular  in  form,  with  a  recess  for  heating  branding 
irons.  It  is  within  the  former  enclosure  that  the  young  horses 
are  driven,  roped  and  saddled;  and  in  the  latter,  the  j^ear's 
crop  of  calves  are  roped,  thrown,  and  branded.  So  far  as 
buildings  go,  the  above  describes  the  requirements  of  a  10,000 
acre  cattle  ranch,  that  carries  from  three  to  four  thousand 
head  of  cattle  and  about  a  hundred  head  of  horses,  all  ages 
included. 

The  buildings  were  duly  inspected  while  the  cowboys  had 
their  breakfast,  after  which  our  host  says,  "Come,"  and  without 
more  ado  we  file  into  the  dining  room  and  take  a  seat  any- 
where on  the  bench  where  a  plate  is  waiting.  The  knives 
and  forks  are  of  iron,  the  spoons  of  tin.  The  provisions  well 
cooked  and  abundant — ham  and  eggs,  boiled  potatoes,  cream, 
gravy,  corn  bread,  buckwheat  cakes  and  coffee.  No  apologies, 
no  ceremony,  what  you  cannot  reach,  ask  for;  if  you  don't 
get  all  you  want,  it's  your  own  fault. 

While  breakfast  with  our  host  is  being  served,  the  cowboys 
ride  away  for  the  day's  work,  which  at  this  time  consisted  of 
cutting  out  the  best  conditioned  cattle  and  rounding  them  up 
to  the  ranch,  preparatory  to  driving  them  to  the  railroad  station 
and  earring  them  for  market.  It  would  be  interesting  to  fol- 
low this  work  for  a  week  and  end  up  by  riding  twenty- 
seven  miles  Saturday  evening  after  supper,  to  a  dance 
where  there  were  seven  women  and  twenty  men;  but  this  is 
what  we  have  in  anticipation  for  our  next  visit  to  the  plains. 
For  the  present  we  must  confine  ourselves  to  the  chase. 

Breakfast  over,  we  go  to  the  shed,  to  find  our  horses  saddled 
and  bridled,  and  a  team  hitched  to  a  wagon  that  is  to  carry  the 
hounds.  Mr.  Petrie,  Steepleton,  our  host  and  the  writer  are 
to  go  mounted. 


vEADY   TO    START 


FTKK    TIIK    Kl 


Coyote  Hunting  on  the  Plains  of  Colorado  89 

It  was  the  writer's  first  experience  in  a  ranchman's  saddle, 
and  he  felt  as  if  he  were  sitting  in  the  crotch  of  a  tree.  The 
pommel  of  the  saddle  came  as  high  as  the  lower  pockets  in  his 
waistcoat  in  front,  and  the  cantel  as  high  as  his  waistband 
beliind;  the  most  awkward  part  was  that  the  stirrup  leathers 
were  so  far  back  he  was  obliged  to  ride  with  a  nearly  straight 
leg  and  long  stirrup  leathers.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  see  ]SIr. 
Petrie  and  his  old  foreman  swing  themselves  into  their  saddles; 
adjusting  their  stirrup  to  the  left  foot,  they  catch  hold  of  the 
pommel  of  the  saddle,  and  drop  into  their  scats  with  apparently 
no  effort  at  all.  As  they  do  so,  they  raise  the  reins,  in  the 
left  hand,  high  above  the  pommel,  and  with  a  slight  pressure 
of  the  reins  to  the  right  or  left  against  the  horse's  neck,  with 
a  sway  of  the  body  in  the  same  direction,  they  are  off.  In 
fact  the  whole  thing  is  accomplished  like  one  motion,  and  before 
they  have  fairly  reached  their  seat,  their  horses  are  making  the 
turn,  and  under  way. 

They  use  a  gag  bit  with  single  reins,  a  very  harsh  bit  which 
they  leave  severely  alone,  the  horse  being  guided  hy  ])ressure 
of  the  reins  against  the  neck,  and  a  swaying  of  the  body,  and 
stopped  mostly  by  word.  These  reins  are  long,  but  are  on  no 
account  fastened  together.  When  the  cowboy  wishes  to  dis- 
mount, he  allows  both  of  these  reins  to  fall  on  the  groujul.  The 
horse  will  feed  about,  but  not  attempt  to  go  away  until  the  reiiis 
are  taken  up.  While  they  drag  on  the  ground,  the  horse  is  as 
good  as  hitched. 

The  hounds  were  loaded  into  an  imjjrovised  crate  of  wire 
netting,  with  the  back  end  of  the  crate  on  hinges,  and  held  in 
place  by  a  rope  that  went  forward  to  the  driver's  seat.  Should 
hounds  be  needed,  all  the  driver  had  to  do  was  to  slacken  the 
rope,  when  the  hounds  would  rush  out  and  away  in  pursuit  of 
their  game.  As  already  mentioned,  greyhounds  can  only 
follow  the  chase  as  long  as  the  animal  they  are  pursuing  can 
be  kept  in  sight.     Therefore,  on  the  undulating  ])lain,  it  was 


90         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

most  important  to  start  them  on  the  best  possible  terms  with 
their  game.  Thus  equipped  and  ready,  we  all  moved  slowly 
on  over  the  great  plain. 

Presently,  in  a  depression  of  ground  that  had  once  been 
a  buffalo  wallow,  JNIr.  Coyote  was  sighted.  The  wagon  was 
headed  that  way  at  the  time,  and  ]Mr.  Petrie  directed  it  to  the 
right  as  if  moving  on  past  the  coyote,  and  then  to  continue 
on  in  a  circular  course,  always  drawing  in  a  little  nearer,  as 
already  described  in  a  former  chapter.  The  riders,  meanwhile, 
rode  side  by  side  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  wagon.  Presently, 
tliis  scavenger  of  the  plains  ran  slowly  on  to  a  rise  of  ground 
that  gave  him  a  more  commanding  view.  On  went  the  wagon, 
ever  headed  as  if  passing,  but  all  the  time  drawing  in  towards 
the  pivot  of  attraction.  The  plan  was,  the  instant  the  coyote 
started  to  run,  as  he  was  ultimately  sure  to  do,  to  liberate  the 
hounds,  while  the  riders  rushed  on  with  whip  and  sj)ur  to  gain 
the  elevation.  Thus  far  the  hounds  would,  of  course,  be  led 
on  by  the  riders,  but  the  instant  they  reached  the  liighest  point 
of  ground,  they  were  expected  to  sight  the  game  and  go  on 
with  the  chase,  the  riders  followng  on  as  fast  as  their  horses 
could  be  made  to  go,  for  no  horse  could  be  expected  to  keep 
pace  with  the  hounds. 

Nearer  and  nearer  we  approach  our  game,  which  stands 
all  absorbed  in  curiosity  at  the  moving  wagon  and  riders,  that 
from  his  point  of  view  seem  always  moving  past  him.  Finally, 
when  we  are  within  one  hundred  yards  of  him,  he  turns  and 
runs.  "Hounds!"  shouts  Mr.  Petrie.  The  cage  door  drops — 
out  rush  the  hounds.  INIeanwhile  the  riders  have  sent  their 
horses  after  the  coyote  with  all  possible  speed.  The  hounds 
soon  overtake  and  pass  us  just  as  Ave  i-each  the  highest  point  of 
ground.  But  what  a  sight!  Away  went  the  coyote  towards  a 
herd  of  some  fifteen  or  twenty  antelopes,  which  in  turn  began 
to  run.  The  antelopes  being  the  principal  moving  object  to 
attract  the  eye  of  the  hounds,  they  took  after  them,  and  I 


Coyote  Hunting  on  the  Plains  of  Colorado  91 

venture  to  say  such  a  beautiful  race  for  at  least  four  miles  has 
seldom  been  witnessed. 

Mr.  Petrie  called  to  his  hounds  in  vain.  On  they  went, 
faster  and  faster,  until  in  the  first  mile  they  came  within  four 
or  five  rods  of  the  last  antelope  in  the  herd.  Then  some  of 
them  began  to  lag,  but  "jNIack,"  INIr.  Petrie's  greatest  hound 
for  speed  and  endurance,  carried  on  the  chase  with  ever  a  wider 
opening  between  himself  and  his  companions,  until  finally  at 
the  end  of  about  a  three  mile  run,  the  antelope  began  to  draw 
away  from  the  resolute  iNIack,  and  in  another  mile  or  less  he, 
also,  had  to  own  defeat.  We  all  rejoiced  in  the  wonderful  sight 
except  jSIr.  Petrie,  who  looked  decidedly  downcast.  He  was 
thinking  that  after  such  an  exhausting  race  the  prospect  of 
catching  a  coyote  that  day  was  decidedly  slim;  thus  his  heart 
was  troubled  and  his  countenance  glum.  The  only  compen- 
sation, poor  as  it  Avas,  was  the  unstinted  praise  his  old  foreman 
and  the  writer  gave  to  the  greatest  race  either  had  ever  beheld, 
or  is  ever  likely  to  again. 

We  had  raced  away  at  the  top  of  our  horses'  speed,  and 
the  greyhounds  had  passed  us  as  if  we  were  standing  still. 
Mr.  Petrie  was  leading  and  when  he  took  in  the  situation,  he 
drew  rein,  and  we  followed  his  example. 

The  old  cattleman  signalised  his  pleasure  and  approbation 
of  the  wonderful  sight  in  four  words  that  summed  up  the 
whole  situation  with  directness  and  clearness,  if  not  with 
elegance.  It  told  of  his  surprise,  his  wonderment,  his  ])leasure. 
At  the  same  time  it  was  his  way,  at  least,  of  complimenting 
Mr.  Petrie  and  the  hounds.  His  body  swung  in  the  saddle, 
his  horse  came  up  alongside  that  of  his  despondent  employer, 
and  this  is  what  he  said.  "Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  ^Ir.  Petrie 
smiled  his  thanks,  and  we  rode  on  to  collect  the  hounds. 

The  poor  hounds  came  straggling  back  to  the  wagon,  done 
to  a  turn.  It  was  hard  to  say  which  had  suffered  most,  for  each 
one  of  them  had  simply  run  himself  or  herself  to  a  stand- 


92         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

still.  When  at  last  they  reached  the  wagon,  they  threw  them- 
selves at  full  length  on  the  short  huffalo  grass,  as  if  they  had 
lain  down  to  die.  IMr.  Petrie  now  goes  to  the  wagon,  takes 
out  a  jug  of  water,  and  placing  his  hat  on  the  ground,  dents 
in  the  crown,  and  into  the  indenture  pours  the  refreshing  gurg- 
ling draught.  One  hound  after  another  staggers  up  at  the 
sound,  to  quench  his  tliirst.  Last,  of  course,  comes  the  indom- 
itable Mack,  who  had  led  the  chase  and  carried  on  the  war 
single-handed  when  all  the  others  had  quit. 

We  now  dismounted  and  took  our  lunch,  although  it  was 
little  beyond  11  o'clock.  It  Avas  a  good  idea,  for  it  not  only 
refreshed  the  hounds,  but  gave  ISIr.  Petrie  a  little  hope  that  we 
might  still  snatch  victory  from  defeat.  "I  had  set  my  heart  on 
six  coyote  pelts  which  would  make  j'ou  a  robe  to  take  back 
East.  I  shall  be  thankful  after  this  misfortune  if  we  secure 
one.  It  all  comes  from  my  not  knowing  the  country.  Tliis 
will  never  happen  again." 

Defeat  is  one  of  the  characteristic  features  of  the  chase ;  if 
everything  worked  out  as  one  expected,  there  would  be  little 
interest  in  the  game. 

Lunch  over,  hounds  are  put  up,  the  crate  is  blanketed  to 
exclude  all  draughts,  and  we  are  off  again. 

An  hour  later  we  sighted  another  coyote,  and  the  same 
tactics  were  resorted  to  as  before.  Away  we  went ;  the  hounds 
ran  better  than  could  be  expected.  The  coyote,  however,  ran 
to  a  pal  of  his  in  a  small  ravine,  and  the  hounds  split  and  finally 
ran  their  game  out  of  view  and  returned  to  the  wagon. 

About  two  hours  later  we  sighted  again.  This  time  hounds 
had  fair  sailing,  and  such  a  ride  to  hounds  I  have  seldom 
experienced.  Mr.  Petrie  on  a  magnificent  grey,  nearly,  if  not 
clean,  thoroughbred,  set  the  pace  for  riders  and  hounds  for 
a  distance  of  nearly  three  miles.  Greyhounds  usually  come  to 
their  coyote  in  a  mile  or  less.  As  they  had  already  shot  their 
bolt  for  speed  their  endurance  alone  could,  in  a  measure,  make 


Coijotc  II  nil  tine/  on  the  Plains  of  Colorado  93 

up  for  the  loss;  and  it  (litl,  for  presently  Mack  caught  the 
coyote  by  the  hind  leg  and  threw  him  on  his  back.  His  own 
speed,  however,  was  so  great  that  he  went  on  past  his  game. 
The  other  hounds  were  too  far  behind  to  complete  the  job  as 
usual.  IMack  turned,  and  before  the  coyote  had  recovered  his 
feet  and  gone  a  rod,  he  downed  him  again.  By  this  time,  the 
pack,  cheered  on  by  INIr.  Petrie,  arrived  and  took  a  hand  in  the 
game.  The  unusually  long  run  had  told  on  them  so  that  they 
would  no  more  than  (lown  their  game,  then  panting  for  breath, 
would  loosen  their  hold,  when  the  coyote  would  get  u])  and  go 
on  again.  ]Mr.  Petrie  cheered  on  his  hounds,  the  cattleman 
expressed  himself  in  his  usual  lucid  fashion,  first  at  the  coyote, 
then  at  the  hounds.  So  the  battle  went  on  for  a  distance  of  at 
least  forty  rods,  when  little  "Black  Lady,"  already  sore  and 
bleeding  from  several  wounds  the  coyote  had  inflicted,  took 
him  by  the  throat,  and  never  let  go  her  hold  until  after  the 
other  hounds  retired,  being  satisfied  their  game  was  dead. 

"I  do  believe,"  said  the  foreman,  "that  little  black  hound 
would  tackle  a  mountain  lion.  She  is  a  dead  game  sport  to 
the  end  of  her  tail.  She  took  no  chances  .on  that  coyote  coming 
to  life  again  like  he  had  been  doing  every  time  they  thought  he 
had  passed  in  his  checks.  She's  a  lone  hand,  isn't  she?"  con- 
tinued the  old  cattleman  in  great  delight. 

The  writer  regrets  to  have  to  chronicle  tliis  rather  bungling 
kill,  but  he  hopes  his  readers  will  not  take  this  as  the  rule. 
Generally  the  struggle  is  over  in  a  moment  or  two  when  the 
leading  hound  is  well  supported.  Where  the  coyote  lands  the 
first  time,  he  goes  on  his  back;  there  as  a  rule  the  battle  ends. 
The  wonder  is  that  after  the  unfortunate  circumstance  of 
the  morning,  the  hounds  were  able  to  run  for  a  rod,  to  say 
nothing  of  a  kill. 

On  the  way  to  join  the  wagon,  INIr.  Petrie  sighted  another 
coyote.  He  could  not  resist  leading  his  bounds  on  again,  but 
they  were  too  tired  and  foot  sore  to  go  on  with  the  chase.    Find- 


94         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

ing  himself  alone  with  the  coyote,  Mr.  Petrie  put  spurs  to  liis 
horse,  cut  across  the  circle  the  coyote  was  making,  and  while 
running  at  full  speed  he  dropped  him  with  a  second  shot  from 
his  revolver. 

"That  gun  play  of  yours,"  said  the  old  cattleman,  as  Mr. 
Petrie  proceeded  to  tie  the  dead  coyote  to  the  back  of  his  saddle, 
"that  gun  play  of  yours  has  lost  but  little  by  coming  to  town ; 
we  all  take  off  our  hats."  And  so  we  did,  and  swung  them  too 
with  a  cheer.  Was  ever  a  compliment  more  neatly  jjut?  As 
usual  it  left  nothing  more  to  say. 

So  far  as  the  events  of  the  second  day  went,  there  was  little 
to  redeem  the  day  before.  Three  coyotes  were  started,  with  but 
one  score,  but  the  way  this  was  done  puts  to  shade  all  former 
kills,  and  I  doubt  if  a  similar  experience  has  ever  been 
recorded. 

There  was  one  fruitless  run  in  the  morning,  and  none  after 
lunch  until  we  were  nearly  home,  when  we  came  upon  five  or 
six  coyotes  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  carcass  that  was  evidently 
of  recent  death,  probably  a  sickly  animal  that  the  coyotes  had 
pulled  down.  JNIr.  Petrie  was  riding  with  the  proprietor  on 
the  wagon  leading  his  horse.  His  cattleman  had  gone  off  by 
himself  to  inspect  a  herd  of  steers.  Taking  in  the  situation  at 
a  glance  Mr.  Petrie  says  to  the  writer  "as  your  horse  seems  to 
have  had  about  enough,  take  mine  and  when  we  get  as  near 
to  the  coyotes  as  possible,  lead  on  the  chase."  ]Mr.  Petrie  is 
a  good  six  feet  and  his  stirrup  leathers  too  long  for  the  writer 
by  as  many  inches.  Instead  of  buckles  by  which  to  shorten 
them,  these  stirrup  leathers  were  laced  with  leather  strings. 
The  writer  managed  to  get  one  unlaced  and  shortened  while 
riding  slowly  on  towards  the  coyotes,  but  before  he  had  time 
to  shorten  the  other  Mr.  Petrie  shouted  "Hounds.''  There  was 
no  waiting  for  adjustment  of  stirrup  leathers.  Out  piled  the 
hounds,  and  away  we  went.  Hounds  came  on  to  equal  terms 
with  the  rider,  but  they  gave  up  the  game  in  the  first  three- 


MR      E     J.    CAMEKON    WITH    A    ROPED 


MR.  petrie's  hounds:  the  kill 


Coyote  Hunting  on  the  Plains  of  Colorado  95 

quarters  of  a  mile.  It  was  a  pity,  for  the  coyote,  carrying  such 
a  picnic  dinner,  could  not  have  held  out  for  any  great  distance. 
But  such  a  ride  the  writer  has  rarely  experienced.  On  went  his 
mount  long  after  the  hounds  had  stopped  running,  the  loose 
dangling  stirrup  spurring  him  on.  He  pulled  at  his  horse,  but  to 
no  account;  side  by  side  he  ran  with  that  coyote,  as  if  trying 
to  turn  a  runaway  steer.  The  writer  knew  the  race  must  come 
to  a  stop  sometime,  and  that  all  outdoors  was  before  them. 
Down  a  gradual  descent  for  a  mile,  horse  and  coyote  had  it  neck 
and  neck.  This  brought  them  to  a  dry  ditch  or  creek,  which 
the  writer  wished  at  all  events  to  avoid.  lie  pulled  with  all  his 
might  on  his  right  hand  rein,  as  they  were  going  at  it  obliquely, 
but  not  an  inch  would  tlie  horse  give  to  his  pull.  Nearer  and 
nearer  came  the  ditch ;  both  hands  were  now  pulling  at  the  one 
rein;  you  might  as  well  have  tried  to  change  the  course  of  a 
shooting  star.  Down  into  the  ditch,  a  perpendicular  drop  of 
about  three  feet,  went  horse  and  coyote— up,  and  out  the 
opposite  side,  wliich  was  less  abrupt.  There  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  ride  it  out.  The  writer  began  to  feel  his  weakness,  Iiis 
eyes  were  nearly  blinded  by  fiUing  with  water  at  the  cutting 
wind.  Another  half  mile,  and  still  the  horse  could  not  head  the 
coyote  nor  the  coyote  get  away.  Again  he  pulled  and  tugged 
with  all  his  might  against  the  bit,  to  no  purpose  whatever,  and 
it  began  to  dawn  on  the  rider  that  he  was  being  run  away  with. 
It  was  evident  that  the  horse  had  never  undertaken  to  head  a 
steer  without  succeeding  and  to  turn  back  in  defeat  was  not  in 
the  lexicon  of  his  experience.  Presently  it  occurred  to  the 
writer  to  try  to  rein  the  horse  by  the  neck.  This  brought  him 
about  hke  the  pressure  of  a  tiller  to  a  sail-boat,  and  the  race 
of  the  tenderfoot  was  over. 

Just  as  this  pair  returned  to  the  wagon,  another  coyote  was 
sighted,  but  a  few  rods  to  the  left.  This  was  the  cattleman's 
turn  (he  having  returned  meantime) ,  and  away  he  went.  The 
hounds  deserted  him  in  the  first  hundred  rods,  but  his  coyote 


96         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

also  was  too  full  to  run  properly,  and  we  saw  the  cattleman 
gradually  gaining. 

"He  is  going  to  rope  the  coyote,"  cried  JNIr.  Petrie,  and  sure 
enough  around  and  around  the  cattleman's  head  circled  the 
open  noose.  No,  he  has  missed.  The  rope  gathered  in  hand 
over  hand,  while  the  horse  raced  on  at  the  top  of  liis  speed, 
was  soon  cutting  the  air  once  more  in  circling  the  cattleman's 
head.  Suddenly  it  leaves  liis  hand.  "Done!"  cries  Mr.  Petrie. 
No  sooner  does  the  open  noose  reach  its  mark  than  the  cattle- 
man's body  is  thrown  back  in  the  saddle,  his  horse  braces  his 
feet  for  a  sudden  halt.  Mr.  Coyote  comes  to  the  end  of  liis 
halter,  and  turns  a  somersault.  INIeantime  the  horseman  has 
turned  his  mount  as  if  on  a  pivot,  and  from  the  first  stride  is 
cantering  him  back  towards  the  wagon,  the  lassoed  coyote  at 
one  end  of  his  lariat,  the  other  fast  to  the  pommel  of  liis 
saddle. 

It  was,  to  the  writer's  mind,  the  most  marvellous  feat  he  had 
ever  seen  in  the  saddle,  and  he  undertook  to  say  so,  but  the  old 
cattleman  would  have  none  of  it.  He  interrupted  vnih,  "That's 
nothing,  the  httle  devil  was  so  full  of  cow  he  couldn't  run  worth 
a  damn." 


"Of  our  sport  and  our  tvelcome  none  ever  complain. 
If  you,  come  to  us  once,  we  shall  see  you  again." 

Rhymes  in  Red. 

VIII 

THE  GENESEE  VALLEY 

THE  VALLEY  ITSELF — NATURE  OF  THE  LAND  HUNTED  O^-ER — THE 
NATIVES — ^yHY  THEY  LO\'E  THE  VALLEY — A  VISIT  TO  THE 
KENNELS. 

IT  seems  difficult  to  write  of  the  Genesee  Valley  hounds  with- 
out first  introducing  the  reader  to  the  famous  valley  itself, 
and  the  nature  of  the  country  hunted. 

While  the  natives  will  tell  you  "the  hunt  is  one  of  the  oldest 
in  America,"  and  "the  hunters  are  the  best  in  the  world,"  the 
valley  comes  first  in  their  affections.  You  will  have  to  hear  all 
about  it  sooner  or  later,  so  we  may  as  well  devote  a  few  lines 
to  attempt  to  show  you  what  it  is  like.  Just  a  glance,  so  that 
should  you  visit  there,  or  meet  one  of  the  natives,  you  will  have 
the  good  taste  to  talk  valley  to  them,  or  rather  let  them  talk 
valley  to  you.  It  is  their  weakness,  perhaps,  but  it  is  policy 
to  indulge  it.  Pcrhajis  you  have  been  there  and  know  it  by 
heart,  and  can,  like  the  natives,  sing  its  praises  with  variations. 
In  that  case,  you  had  better  skijj  what  folloAvs,  for  you  are 
sure  to  be  disappointed  in  the  writer's  attempt. 

Everyone  agrees  in  saying  the  Genesee  Valley  is  the  most 
beautiful,  most  fertile  spot  in  the  State  of  New  York,  and  those 
who  have  travelled  most  in  America  and  abroad,  say  there  is 
but  one  Genesee  Valley  in  the  world. 


98         The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

If  you  would  see  the  valley  at  its  finest,  "Come  up,"  as 
Joshua  Whitcomb  says,  "in  the  spring-time,  when  nature  is 
doing  its  best,  and  let  the  scarlet-runners  chase  you  back  to 
childhood."  If  you  would  see  it  in  its  prime,  postpone  your 
visit  until  mid-summer,  when  the  yellow  harvest  fields  checker 
the  landscape  in  squares  of  gold,  filling  the  barns  with  plenty 
and  the  granaries  to  overflowing.  But  if  you  would  see  the  vale 
in  all  its  beauty  and  loveliness,  come  up  when  the  first  hazy 
atmosphere  of  October  has  subdued  the  fiercer  rays  of  a  sum- 
mer sun.  When  the  glorious  colours  of  autumn  have  touched 
each  leaf,  when  the  squirrels  are  at  harvest,  and  the  woodcock 
and  partridge  are  fit — then  is  the  time  to  come  to  the  valley, 
for  then  it  is  that  apples  and  cider  are  plenty  and  the  rich 
golden  pumpkins  make  heavenly  pie.  Is  that  not  enough  to 
start  you?  Then  listen  to  the  huntsman's  horn,  and  the  melo- 
dious chorus  of  the  pack,  how  it  echoes  from  wood  to  wood, 
from  hill  to  hill,  proclaiming  the  glorious  news  that  a  chicken- 
thief  fox  is  afoot,  and  retribution  hard  after.  That  is  the  time 
to  come  to  the  valley ;  unless  you  have  eyes  without  seeing,  ears 
without  hearing,  and  a  heart  that  is  in  the  wrong  place  alto- 
gether— so  that  your  blood  runs  backwards — "You're  a  goner." 
All  your  sorrows,  disajipointments,  wrongs,  vexations,  sickness, 
cares,  all,  all,  are  gone.  Can  the  gods  offer  more?  No,  but 
the  Genesee  Vallians  can.     They  can 

"Give  you  a  mount  and  a  field  you  can  count. 
And  a  fox  that  is  willing  to  go. 
Hounds  you  cannot  surpass,  a  full  cry  on  the  grass. 
What  more  would  you  wish  for  below?" 

The  noble  Genesee  river  enters  the  valley  from  a  gorge 
wherein  it  has  been  confined  for  the  last  fourteen  miles;  viz., 
from  the  falls  at  Portage,  whence  it  winds  its  tortuous  way 
between  walls  of  solid  masonry  three  to  four  hundred  feet  liigh. 


The  Genesee  Valley  99 

and  in  a  succession  of  rapids,  until  it  discharges  into  the  valley 
at  Scjuawkie  Hill,  the  writer's  home,  and  then  goes  on  in  a 
more  peaceful  way  to  Lake  Ontario.  The  Genesee  river  gorge 
is  one  of  the  most  romantic,  most  interesting,  most  heautiful 
canoe  trips  in, — well,  in  the  world,  let  him  who  can,  dispute  it. 
At  times  many  of  the  rapids  are  quite  formidable  enough  to 
open  your  eyes  and  close  your  mouth,  and  to  make  your  scalp 
lock  stand  on  end;  but  you  would  not  have  missed  it  for  a 
thousand. 

The  Genesee  Valley  was  once  u])on  a  time  a  great  lake, 
some  forty  miles  long,  and  two  to  three  miles  wide. 

The  northern  barrier  of  this  lake,  near  Rochester,  New 
York,  finally  gave  way,  and  the  lake  l)ecame  a  valley,  with  the 
river  cutting  through  tlie  centuries  of  deposit,  and  accumulated 
wash  of  the  great  Alleghany  watershed.  This  deposit  is  over 
a  hundred  feet  deep,  and  accounts  for  the  remarkable  fertility 
of  the  soil.  The  valley  was,  according  to  Indian  tradition, 
never  wooded.  This  theory  is  confirmed  by  the  earliest  history 
of  the  countrj',  and  is  one  of  the  strongest  proofs  of  the  lake 
theory. 

The  hills  on  either  side  of  the  valley  grow  higher  and  higher 
as  you  go  from  north  to  south,  until  they  are  over  one  thousand 
feet  high.  These  hills  are  cut  and  seamed  by  ditches,  gullies  and 
ravines  without  number.  They  make  most  formidable  barriers 
in  following  the  chase,  and  in  addition  to  the  usually  well  tim- 
ber-fenced i)astures,  require  of  the  hunter  that  he  shoukl  be  the 
stoutest,  the  most  courageous,  and  altogether  the  best  all- 
round  animal  that  is  to  be  found  in  the  e(]uine  race.  Besides 
being  a  good  timber  jumper,  he  must  be  schooled  to  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  ditches;  to  clamber  down  into  ravines  as 
sure-footed  as  a  goat,  and  out  again  as  if  crawling  up  the  side 
of  a  mansard  roof. 

These  gullies  and  ravines  afford  Reynard  most  secluded 
retreats.     They  are  a  veritable  haven  of  refuge.     It  is  quite 


100       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

impossible  to  have  a  run  of  any  reasonable  distance  that  does 
not  include  the  crossing  of  from  one  to  half  a  dozen  of  these 
gullies.  To  attempt  to  ride  around  them,  either  above  or  below, 
usually  means  to  ride  yourself  out  of  the  chase  altogether. 
Often  when  you  have  reached  the  opposite  side  of  one  of  these 
ravines  or  gullies  you  find  Reynard  has  turned  back  into  it 
again.  Many  of  these  ravines  have  a  beginning  near  the  crest 
of  the  liills,  and  grow  gradually  deeper  and  wider,  until  a 
ditch  becomes  a  gully ;  a  gully  a  ravine,  a  ravine  a  gorge,  with  a 
distance  of  two  or  three  miles  from  source  to  valley.  In  mid- 
summer most  of  these  ditches  are  dry,  while  in  the  breaking 
of  spring  and  during  the  autumn  rains,  they  are  roaring  tor- 
rents, cascades  and  waterfalls.  They  go  from  extreme  to  ex- 
treme in  a  presto  change  order.  In  some  places,  the  "Seven 
Gullies"  for  instance,  you  no  sooner  negotiate  the  opposite  bank 
of  one,  than  another  a  httle  deeper  and  steeper  confronts  you. 
These  gullies  are  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  deep, 
and  have  a  pitch  of  45  degrees  or  less.  They  are  mostly  wooded, 
and  dense  with  underbrush. 

The  usual  method  of  negotiating  these  gulUes  is  to  dis- 
mount and  lead  your  horse  down  to  the  bottom,  then  catch 
hold  of  his  tail  and  scramble  up  the  best  you  can.  Some  horses 
have  to  be  led,  and  more  than  one  has  taken  a  header.  Cross- 
ing these  gullies  is  usually  a  sort  of  "follow  the  leader"  game, 
there  being  but  one  or  two,  possibly  three,  trails  by  wlaich  it 
is  possible  to  go  in  and  out  of  them. 

The  great  flat  lands  of  the  valley  are  mostly  owned  by  the 
Wadsworths,  and  are  principally  devoted  to  pasture,  so  that 
when  a  fox — which  is  not  very  often — leads  the  way  across 
these  beautiful  fields  of  fifty  to  three  hundred  acres  in  extent, 
you  may  have  such  a  gallop  as  is  only  enjoyed  over  the  great 
"grass  lands"  of  England. 

In  a  word  the  Genesee  Valley,  for  the  most  part,  is  a  timber 
country,  rail  or  worm-fence,  mostly  stake  and  rider,  ditches, 


MAJOR   \V.    A.    WADSWORTH.    M.    F.    H. 


The  Genesee  Valley  101 

gullies,  and  wooded  ravines — a  hard  country  to  ride,  but 
it  is  the  making  of  all-round  hunters  and  all-round  riders, 
as  well. 

It  is  a  regular  hunting  day  for  the  Genesee  hounds.  We 
will  start  early  so  as  to  call  on  the  jNIastcr,  Major  Austin 
W'adsworth,  and  pay  a  visit  to  the  kennels,  before  it  is  time  to 
go  to  the  "meet."  We  will,  therefore,  send  our  hunters  slowly 
on  by  the  stable  boy. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  INIadam  is  calling.  "Going  away  with- 
out sandwiches,"  she  adds;  "just  like  a  man!  Such  thought- 
less creatures!  You  need  as  much  looking  after  as  a  lot  of 
girls." 

She  has  provided  for  us,  in  anticipation  of  a  long  day,  a 
stack  of  sandwiches,  something,  as  Jorrock  says,  "For  the  wear 
and  tear  of  our  teeth."  IMadam  saj'S,  "It  is  to  prevent  our 
breeding  a  famine  in  her  pantry  when  we  return."  When  thus 
relieved  of  her  sandwiches  and  a  piece  of  her  mind  as  to  the 
inferiority  of  man  and  the  necessity  of  a  woman  to  look  after 
him,  we  are  off.  Of  course  we  must  leave  ]\Iadam  ^\•ith  the  last 
word,  it  is  a  duty  incumbent  u])on  all  good  sjjortsmen.  Besides 
it  is  best  to  take  her  sandwiches  and  indulge  her  in  the  belief 
that  she  is  in  the  })rogranu)ie  for  the  day,  and  to  have  a  cut  and 
dried  compliment  ready  for  her  thoughtfulness  and  the  quahty 
of  her  cookery  on  our  return;  it  is  wisdom.  A  compliment  is 
an  excellent  thing  to  have  standing  to  a  man's  credit;  it 
is  "a  very  present  help  in  time  of  trouble,"  and  man  is 
born  to  trouble.  "Ware"  trouble,  Author,  and  get  on  to  the 
kennels. 

Now  we  are  off,  but  in  passing  through  Cuylerville,  on  our 
way  to  Geneseo,  the  inhabitants  of  that  jjcaceful  little  hamlet 
would  think  we  were  thoughtless,  if  we  neglected  to  mention 
that  it  was  here  that  the  Seneca  Indians  had  built  the  great 
"Chen-na-see  castle,"  a  very  large  settlement  of  Indians,  which 
was,  we  believe,  the  capital  of  "The  Six  Nations."  and  from 


102       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

which  the  river  and  the  valley  have  taken  their  names.  It  was 
to  destroy  this  famous,  or  rather  infamous  settlement,  that 
General  Washington  sent  liither  the  Sulhvan  expedition. 

'On  the  way  we  shall  point  out  to  you  the  "Bigtree  Farm," 
the  property  of  Mr.  Craig  and  liis  hrother,  J.  S.  Wadsworth, 
so-called  from  its  having  at  one  time  the  famous  "Bigtree" 
(since  blown  down)  celebrated  in  history,  story  and  song,  as 
the  official  rendezvous,  or  State  Capitol  of  the  Six  Nations. 
From  the  council  fire,  here,  the  young  bucks  were  sent,  as 
runners,  with  messages  to  the  chiefs  of  the  different  tribes, 
as  far  east  as  the  Hudson,  west  into  Ohio  and  south  into 
Pennsjdvania.  It  was  underneath  the  Bigtree,  a  section  of 
wliich  has  been  preserved  on  the  Hon.  James  Wadsworth's 
lawn,  that  the  famous  speeches  of  "Red  Jacket,"  "Corn 
Planter"  and  "Logan"  were  made. 

It  was  here  the  Six  Nations  buried  the  hatchet  and  smoked 
the  pij^e  of  peace  with  the  representatives  of  Washington. 
"What,"  you  may  ask,  "has  this  to  do  with  hounds  and 
hunting  in  the  Genesee  Valley?"  Notliing,  save  a  bit  of  sen- 
timent, which  the  natives  are  fond  of  keeping  alive.  We  simply 
wish  to  add  tliis  sentimental  colouring  to  the  trees  of  the  valley, 
and  to  remind  you  as  you  ride  along  the  banks  of  the  noble 
waters  of  the  "Chen-na-see,"  of  the  red  man,  who  once  loved 
it  as  well. 

It  was  here  the  returning  warrior  came  to  court  his  "dusky 
mate."  It  was  the  same  old  story  that  many  a  paleface  has 
found  the  heart  and  courage  to  repeat,  as  he  paddled  along 
these  shady  banks  in  the  light  of  a  harvest  moon. 

We  are  nearing  the  village  of  Geneseo  and  a  fond  recol- 
lection comes  over  us,  as  we  recall  the  tempting  menus  of  the 
"Big  Tree  Inn" — "A  Hotel  for  Sportsmen  Designed." 

It  is  during  the  last  mile  before  we  reach  the  village,  that 
we  shall  be  able  to  show  you  one  of  the  most  beautiful  views 
to  be  had  of  the  valley.     From  here  you  will  see  the  great 


The  Gcncsce  Vallcij  103 

pasture  fields  and  follow  the  windings  of  the  noble  stream 
by  the  luxuriant  growth  of  overhanging  poplars  that  fringe 
its  banks,  forming  in  many  ])laces  a  dense  shaded  archway, 
under  which  the  waters  dally  along  in  graceful  eddies,  or 
linger  in  deeper  pools  before  venturing  on  over  the  next 
gravelly  shoal  that  obstructs  its  usually  slow  and  dignified 
way. 

You  here  observe  how  much  the  landscape  resembles  the 
most  beautiful  parts  of  rural  England.  Nowhere  in  America, 
I  believe,  can  be  found  so  good  a  representation  of  English 
country  scenery,  as  are  the  fields  which  form  this  particular 
view. 

When  the  original  pioneer,  Wadsworth,  came  to  the  vallej% 
he  brought  with  him  a  love  for  the  beautiful,  and  a  tree  was 
among  the  first  on  the  hst.  Fortunately  his  descendants,  who 
inherited  these  broad  acres,  have  had  the  good  sense  and  good 
taste  to  leave  the  fields  studded  with  great  forests,  oaks,  maples, 
hickory,  black  walnut  and  butternut,  giving  to  the  landscape, 
as  in  England,  the  appearance  of  a  great  park.  This  feature 
and  the  fertility  of  the  soil  is  one  of  the  most  noted  character- 
istics of  the  Genesee  Valley. 

Beneath  the  foliage  of  wide  spreading  trees,  the  suckling 
and  weanling  hunters  sport  and  play,  and  the  matronly  look- 
ing in-foal  mares  lie  dreaming  of  the  chase  or  counting  the 
hunt  cups  their  unborn  foals  are  to  capture  at  Madison  Square, 
where  they  themselves  have  won  high  honours  and  the  applause 
of  thousands. 

It  is  here  also,  in  detached  herds,  that  the  bullocks  lie, 
gracefully  dipping  their  wide-spreading  horns  in  unison  with 
the  milling  of  the  sweet  tender  grasses  they  hurriedly  col- 
lected, fresh  with  the  morning  dew.  Their  half  dropping 
ej'clids,  the  expression  of  ecstasy,  contentment  and  solid  com- 
fort, their  mellow  hides  and  sleek,  shiny  coats,  all  proclaim  the 
fattening  qualities  of  the  nutritious  forage. 


104.        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

What  have  shady  trees,  mares  in-foal  and  fattening  bul- 
locks, to  do  with  hounds  and  foxes?  They  are,  like  the  Indian 
tradition  of  the  countrj',  the  essence  of  the  sport;  these  are 
the  things,  when  once  you  are  introduced  to  them,  or  come 
to  understand  them,  that  wed  you  to  country  life. 

The  writer  may  be  pardoned  for  dwelling  over  long  on 
tliis  introduction  to  fox  hunting  in  the  valley,  and  country 
life  in  general.  On  the  other  hand,  had  he  failed  to  notice 
this  feature,  he  would  have  omitted  what  to  some  is  the  most 
important  part  and  left  hidden  the  very  soul  of  the  game. 
Country  life,  after  all,  is  about  the  only  hfe.  It  has  been  sadly 
lost  sight  of  in  our  mad  rush  for  dollars,  since  the  war  of 
secession. 

"Visit  the  Kennels?  Why  certainly."  Our  Master  excuses 
himself  to  his  other  guests  and  accompanies  us  on  the  rounds 
of  the  kennels.  He  loves  a  hound  and  never  tires  of  singing 
the  praises  of  the  pack  or  of  displaying  the  superior  points  in 
conformation,  colour  and  markings  of  each  individually. 

Passing  the  pheasantrj^  from  which  is  annuallj'  liberated 
a  goodly  number  of  ]\Iongolian  or  ring-necked  pheasants,  we 
arrived  at  the  breeding  kennels  or  special  lying-in-rooms  for 
the  bitches  during  the  whelping  season. 

Buttry,  the  kennel  huntsman,  joins  us  here.  Buttry  has 
occupied  this  position  for  years,  and  knows  more  about  hounds, 
hound  breeding,  foxes  and  pheasants,  "than  any  other  man 
in  America,"  at  least  that  is  what  the  Hunt  club  members 
claim  for  him.  The  kennels  have  been  erected  in  accordance 
with  the  ideas  of  the  immortal  Somer\'ile,  who  says, 

"First  let  the  hennel  he  the  huntsman's  care, 
Upon  some  little  eminence  erect. 
And  fronting  to  the  ruddy  dawn;  its  court 
On  either  hand  wide  opening  to  receive 
The  su7i's  all  cheering  heams  when  mild  he  shines." 


MR.    HEKREKT    WADSWORTH  S    HOME 


FUTLKK    HINTEKS    AND    THEIR    DAMS 


The  Gcncscc  Vallcn  105 

Before  we  reach  the  kennels  the  hounds  have  "winded"  us 
and  their  music  begins.  They  are  standing  in  twos  and  threes, 
with  their  noses  pressing  the  cracks  in  the  high  board  fence 
surrounding  their  court.  Those  who  detect  in  the  air  the 
approach  of  strangers,  are  barking  Hke  watch-dogs,  but  the 
older  hounds  who  also  discover  in  it  the  approach  of  tlie  Master, 
are  baying  to  it  with  joyous  exclamations  in  anticipation  of 
the  unkenneling  which  is  sure  to  follow. 

Buttry's  voice  outside  the  kennels  rises  above  the  hound 
clamour  within,  and  the  tumult  gradually  ceases  with  a  few 
sharp  barks,  mutterings  and  smothered  growlings,  that  can't 
sto])  altogether  when  it  once  gets  started. 

The  entry  room — Buttry's  room — contains  almost  every- 
thing from  coupling  irons  to  distemper  cure,  that  a  hound  is 
ever  likely  to  require  and  with  closets  for  everything.  We 
are  helped  into  a  kennel  coat,  a  sort  of  linen  duster  that  comes 
down  to  our  ankles  to  prevent  the  hounds — if  inclined  to  be  too 
demonstrative — from  soiling  our  clothes. 

The  Master  tills  his  pockets  with  oatmeal  biscuits  and  leads 
the  way  to  the  south  wing  of  the  kemiels — the  bitches' 
quarters.  They  are  all  outside  in  the  open  court.  Buttry,  who 
is  inside  the  kennel,  goes  to  tlie  door  and  holding  it  ojjen  wide 
enough  for  one  hound  to  enter  at  a  time,  begins  drafting  them 
in  for  our  inspection.  "Blue  Bells!  Blue  Bells!"  is  the  first 
to  be  called,  and  that  beautiful  })itch  comes  crowding  her  way 
through  the  feathering,  jostling  pack  and  trots  joyfully  up 
to  the  INIaster  to  seek  in  his  outstretched  hand  the  bit  of  biscuit 
she  knows  so  well  is  there  to  reward  her.  "This  is  Blue  Bells 
by  Blue  Boy,  out  of  Bonnie  I.,ass,  the  best  hound  I  ever  saw. 
Blue  Bells  is  marked  like  her  grandsire  and  has  the  same 
fastidious  kennel  habits  as  her  dam." 

Barmaid  comes  next  in  order,  and  is  jwking  her  sensitive 

nose  into  the  Master's  hand  before  he  is  aware  of  her  presence. 

"This  is  a  daughter  of  Bartender,"  explains  our  blaster,  "a 


106       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

very  grand  hound,  you  shall  see  him  presently."  Then  we 
have  a  short  history  of  Barmaid's  good  qualities  and  peculiari- 
ties. She  is  a  very  jealous  hound,  giving  tongue  to  a  line  only 
as  long  as  she  is  able  to  lead  the  pack.  Next  the  INIaster 
asks  Buttry  to  show  us  the  four  daughters  of  Trumpeter. 
Quickstep,  Frivolous,  Prettymaid  and  Faultless,  four  magnifi- 
cent bitches,  answer  to  their  names,  and  are  discussed  in  turn 
and  collectively,  our  ISIaster  selecting  this  one  to  illustrate  his 
idea  of  a  perfect  shoulder,  another  for  feet  and  leg,  and  another 
for  carriage  of  head  and  stern,  and  so  on,  until  we  have  in  our 
mind's  eye  the  blaster's  idea  of  what  constitutes  a  faultless 
hound,  and  the  standard  he  is  aiming  to  produce.  Our  adjec- 
tives are  quite  exhausted,  and  we  begin  to  comprehend  what 
it  means  to  breed  foxhounds  to  colour,  size,  markings,  feet, 
legs,  shoulders,  loins,  back,  fling,  drive,  courage,  endurance, 
carriage,  music,  nose. 

There  is  no  domestic  animal  where  the  requirements  are 
so  numerous  and  the  qualifications  so  exacting,  as  those  striven 
for  and  produced  in  the  modern  foxhound :  the  horse — even  the 
hunter — not  excepted. 

On  our  way  to  the  dog  hounds,  we  pass  through  the  boiler 
room  where  a  great  cauldron  kettle  is  steaming  to  a  slow  fire, 
producing  the  evening  feed  of  oatmeal,  which  smells  good 
enough  and  looks  clean  enough  to  set  before  a  king. 

"Now,  Buttry,"  says  our  INIaster,  "when  you  are  ready  we 
will  have  a  look  at  Bartender,"  who,  hearing  liis  name  spoken 
by  the  INIaster  within,  lets  go  his  tongue  with  the  eagerness  of 
the  village  fire  alarm.  The  deep-mouthed  Trumpeter  and  a 
dozen  others  rush  to  his  side  and  join  the  chorus.  At  the  same 
time,  the  bitches  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  kennels  and 
even  the  invalids  in  the  hospital  wards,  loose  their  tongues. 

Then,  with  a  flourish  of  his  old  hunting  crop,  and  the  report 
of  its  loud  speaking  thong,  and  a  shout  from  Buttry  that  rises 
above  the  tumult  without  and  witliin  (Buttry  perinits  no  liber- 


The  Genesee  Valley  107 

ties  -mih  the  kennel  discipline,  even  if  visitors  are  present) 
the  tumult  ceases. 

"Bartender!  Bartender!"  Bartender  hesitates.  He  knows 
full  well  he  began  the  disturbance,  and  he  is  not  quite  sure  if 
he  is  to  be  called  out  for  reproof  or  otherwise.  Seeing  this, 
Buttry's  voice  changes  to:  "Come  on,  Bartender,  come  on, 
good  dog."  Thus  reassured,  the  noble  hound  who  is  as  cheery 
of  com|)liment  and  as  injured  by  a  word  too  much  as  a  woman, 
comes  joyfully  in,  waving  his  stern  like  a  bending  reed  to  a 
summer  breeze,  his  nostrils  working,  his  mouth  full  of  laughter, 
his  eyes  all  aglow,  head  erect,  and  his  lips  twitching  as  if  about 
to  speak.  He  has  round  cat-like  feet,  straight  legs,  and  most 
muscular  thighs;  deep  chest,  depth  of  shoulder,  a  loin  like  a 
beam,  and  a  back  like  a  bull.  His  markings  are  perfect,  body 
black,  a  golden  tan  about  the  edges  of  the  back,  as  if  the  under 
and  larger  blanket  of  tan  were  covered  with  a  silken  one  of 
smaller  pattern  in  black.  His  head,  full  of  character,  is  also 
black,  with  eyebrows  and  muzzle  shading  tan,  ears  black,  as 
su])ple  as  chamois  skin  with  the  touch  of  silk  velvet  and  also 
fringed  with  tan.  And  with  it  all  such  a  grand  carriage  of 
head  and  stern.  He  is  just  as  grand  and  ]K'rfect  a  hound  in 
the  field  as  he  is  on  the  flags.  He  was  champion  hound  at 
Madison  Square,  and  first  prize  hound  with  four  of  his  get, 
including  Barmaid,  Villager,  Bonnie  Boy  and  Vaunter.  Then 
another  stud  hound  and  s])ecial  favourite  is  called  in  with  as 
many  of  his  get  for  comparison. 

The  inspection  over,  the  Master  takes  us  past  the  hospital, 
where  several  hounds  are  ailing,  some  lame  from  rheumatics, 
others  wearing  bandages — the  result  of  cuts  and  thorns.  How 
pleased  they  are  to  see  their  master,  as  they  hobble  to  meet 
his  caresses,  hear  his  praise  and  reassurance  that  they  will  soon 
be  able  to  join  the  pack. 

There  are,  in  hound  breeding,  so  many  different  and  difficult 
problems  to  confront.     There  are  the  quarrelsome,  the  timid. 


108       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

the  quick  witted  and  the  dull,  the  careless  and  the  fastidious, 
the  gluttonous  and  the  dainty,  some  who  require  wliipping, 
others  coaxing,  not  to  mention  their  misfortunes,  sicknesses 
and  individual  care.  Then  come  the  more  interesting  ques- 
tions of  selection  and  breeding. 

Thus  a  well  bred  pack  of  hounds  become  to  a  Master,  who, 
like  Major  Wadsworth,  breeds  for  improvement,  a  most  in- 
teresting, most  fascinating  study;  the  above,  however,  is  but 
the  beginning. 

The  nursing  of  the  puppies  through  the  distemper,  mange, 
etc.,  hke  the  mumps,  chicken-pox,  or  measles  in  children, 
brings  added  cares  to  the  kennel  huntsman,  and,  likewise, 
increased  affection.  Then  comes  the  huntsman's  part,  their 
days  at  "walk."  The  puppies  must  be  sent  to  farmers  and 
others  who  will  "walk"  them  for  a  year.  Then  comes  the  more 
serious  question,  the  drafting  and  killing  of  the  imperfect 
ones,  the  flogging  and  subjection  of  the  new  entry  to  kennel 
discipline,  their  schooling  and  conditioning  for  the  chase.  Thus 
it  comes  about  that  each  and  every  member  of  the  kennel  house- 
hold becomes  very  near,  and  I  may  say  without  offence,  very 
dear,  to  the  master  huntsman,  and  kennel  huntsman  as  well. 

I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  the  visit  to  the  kennels,  if  so,  you 
will  surely  enjoy  the  run  to-day  all  the  better  for  having  done 
so. 

We  have  not  time  to  visit  the  stud  and  hunt  stables,  we 
must  hurry  away  to  the  meet,  for  our  hostess  there  will  take 
it  quite  to  heart  if  we  are  not  in  time  to  partake  of  her  hunt 
breakfast. 


"Will  beam  with  delight 
At  the  (jloriom  sight 
Of  a  meet  on  the  velvety  lawn." 

Poems  in  Pink. 

IX 

A  DAY  WITH  THE  GENESEE  VALLEY  HOUNDS 

the  meet  at  belwood — the  hunt  breakfast — the  co^'ert 
— se\t:n  gullies — avho-avhoop. 

WHAT  a  joyous  happy  crowd,  to  be  sure!  All  our 
friends  are  there,  dressed  in  their  smartest  "hunting 
togs."  The  men  are  telling  the  ladies  that  they  are  look- 
ing "too  excruciatingly  stunning  for  anytliing,"  while  Miss 
Daisy  from  Batavia,  is  answering  ]Mr.  Arthur's  chaffing  by 
holding  her  fingers  in  her  ears,  because  his  new  waistcoat  is  of 
such  a  loud  pattern.  So  the  chaffing  and  small  talk  and  apolo- 
gies and  regrets  for  omissions  and  commissions  go  gaily  on 
about  the  heavily  laden  board,  everyone  helping  him  or  herself, 
or  perhaps  a  neighbour.  Our  host,  meanwhile,  is  shaking 
hands  with  his  friends  and  their  guests,  while  his  visiting  friends 
are  assisting  in  the  entertainment  or  are  canvassing  the  lawn 
and  drives  that  are  filling  with  pedestrians  and  wagons,  that 
none  may  go  away  unbidden  to  the  feast  of  good  tilings  that 
has  been  provided  within. 

"Here  come  the  hounds,"  says  someone  on  the  porch,  who 
is  on  the  lookout  for  them,  and  bedlam  is  let  loose.  Four 
women  meet  in  a  bunch  all  talking  at  once,  such  a  babble! 
One  more  taste,  a  hasty  last  swallow,  eating  and  talking,  and 
rushing  here  and  there  for  hats  and  gloves,  and  hunting  crops; 


110       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

napkins  are  stuffed  into  handkerchief  pockets  to  be  discovered 
at  the  first  check,  ten  niiles  away. 

"Here  they  come!  Here  they  come!"  as  the  hounds,  headed 
by  the  first  whipper-in,  followed  by  the  huntsman  with  the 
pack  at  his  horse's  heels,  come  swinging  up  the  winding  drive- 
way directly  in  front  of  the  house,  the  Master  bowing  right 
and  left  to  the  general  handclapping  and  wa\ang  of  napkins 
from  every  available  window,  balcony,  doorway,  and  porch  of 
the  spacious  villa. 

It  lacks  but  five  minutes  of  the  hour  (eleven)  when  hounds 
will  move  on  to  draw  the  first  covert.  We  therefore  hurry  out 
to  join  the  crowd,  who  have  already  formed  an  admiring  circle 
about  the  huntsman  and  hounds.  The  twelve  and  one  half 
couple  of  very  carefully  selected  hounds,  are  quite  unconscious 
of  the  shower  of  compliments  they  are  receiving  and  the  click- 
ing of  kodaks  going  on  about  them. 

"Toot,  toot!"  says  the  huntsman's  horn,  as  a  signal  to 
mount;  only  two  minutes  more  and  we  are  off.  Now  all  is 
confusion  worse  confounded.  Good-byes  are  hurriedly  spoken, 
there  is  an  exchange  of  sweet-sounding  salutations  between 
some  of  the  ladies  that  make  the  men  pucker  their  lips,  but  to 
no  purpose.  A  "where-is-my-horse  or  where-am-I-at"  expres- 
sion is  on  everyone's  face,  and  the  whole  assembly  is  a  kaleido- 
scope. You  see  it  all  and  you  observe  notliing.  The  village 
clock  no  sooner  strikes  eleven  than  "Toot,  toot,  toot!"  says  the 
horn,  "crack,  crack,"  says  the  thong  of  the  whipper-in  with  an 
added  correction  to  a  new  entry  hound  that  is  heading  for  the 
kitchen  where  the  cook  and  household  servants  are  looking  on 
from  behind  the  screen.  Twenty-five  hounds  and  seventy-five 
riders  going  forth  to  capture  and  bring  to  justice  one  JNIr. 
Reynard,  an  outlaw,  that  the  untimely  death  of  JNIrs.  Farmer's 
goslings  may  be  avenged.  What  a  grand  lot  of  horses !  What 
a  beautiful,  what  a  thrilling  sight!  Conveyances  of  all  descrip- 
tions, from  a  four-in-hand  to  a  rickety  hotel  omnibus ;  from  a 


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A   MEET   ON   THE   LAWN 


MAJOR  WADSWORTH'S  HOME 


A  Day  Willi  the  Genesee  Valley  Iluiinds  111 

sjiidcr  phaeton  to  a  breaking  cart.  Truant  lads  were  there, 
driving  a  village  delivery  wagon.  Boys  and  girls  who  "did 
not  hear  the  bell  ring,"  together  with  farm  hands  who  had 
hitched  their  plough  horses  to  the  fence,  were  hurrying  away 
to  the  crown  of  an  adjacent  hill,  all  speeding  on  as  if  by  some 
sweet  frenzy  seized  and  with  the  hope  of  viewing  the  chase 
away. 

"Hark!    On  the  drag  I  hear  their  doleful  notes." 

Arri\ing  at  the  Fitzlmgh  Wood,  hounds  are  thrown  off  witli 
a  cheer.  The  first  whipper-in  has  stationed  himself  where 
best  to  view  Reynard  away.  The  second  whipper-in  has  gone 
in  with  the  Master  and  hounds.  ^Vhat  prettier  sight  can  any 
one  see  on  a  fine  autumn  day,  than  a  hard-working  pack  of 
hounds,  each  in  great  eagerness  to  be  the  first  to  proclaim  the 
find?  How  they  fling  and  drive,  testing  each  clmiip  of  grass 
for  a  particle  of  the  evasive  effluvia  that  Reynard  maj-  have 
left  in  passing. 

Bartender  is  now  seen  madly  feathering  in  the  midst  of  a 
tliicket,  his  "hackles"  are  on  end  as  if  about  to  speak.  Seeing 
this,  the  ^Master,  who  as  usual  is  hunting  his  own  hounds,  cries 
out.  "Speak  to  it,  Bartender,  speak  to  it,  good  dog."  Ring- 
wood  and  Rallywood,  hearing  Bartender  thus  cheered  on,  rush 
to  his  side,  for  not  only  do  the  hounds  know  their  own  names 
but  the  name  of  the  other  hounds  as  well.  ^Vgain  the  Master 
encourages  Bartender  to  speak  to  it,  but  the  grand  old  hound 
who  cannot  be  made  to  tell  a  lie  only  mutters  a  wliimi^er  and 
passes  on. 

So  we  all  move  slowly  along.  The  delicate  aroma  of  the 
autumn  wood,  the  falling  leaves,  the  crackling  t^\-igs  under 
our  horses'  feet,  all  add  inmiensely  to  the  delights  of  the  hour. 

Tlie  Fitzhugh  covert  having  proved  blank,  we  next  try 
the  wood  farther  south.  What  a  delightful  ride  from  wood  to 
wood  across  the  beautiful  pasture  fields,  studded  with  great 
spreading  shade  trees,  tluit  make  it  more  a  park  than  a  pasture! 


112        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

These  rides  from  covert  to  covert  put  every  one  on  the  best  of 
terms  with  himself,  excepting  perhaps,  an  element  who  are 
out  for  racing  each  other,  and  who  have  no  taste  for  hunting 
except  the  mad  galloping  part.  But  to  those  who  are  out  to 
hunt,  it  is  one  of  the  most  enjoyable  features  of  the  game. 
Horses  and  hounds  are  fresh.  Anticipation  and  eagerness  are 
plainly  stamped  on  the  faces  of  all. 

It  begins  to  look  as  if  the  second  covert  was  also  a  blank, 
when  suddenly  the  musical  wliimpers  of  Barmaid,  then  Vil- 
lager, bring  shouts  of  rejoicing  from  the  riders  all  over  the 
wood  and  before  the  echoes  have  ceased  in  the  treetops,  the  deep 
mouthed  Sampson  has  thrown  his  tongue.  "Hark  to  Sampson! 
Hark  to  Sampson!"  but  every  hound  in  the  pack  is  already 
rushing  to  join  him  or  to  reach  a  spot  just  ahead  of  him,  to 
confirm  the  good  news.  On  they  go,  "Ding-dong,"  go  their 
tongues,  as  one  after  another  they  feel  the  line  until  their  joy- 
ful- notes  swell  to  one  grand  chorus  that  fills  the  great  wood 
to  overflowing. 

Tally-Oh!    Tally-Oh!    Gone  away,  Tally-Ho-gon-a-way. 

Now  then,  friend,  we  are  off.  Cram  down  your  hat,  take 
your  mount  well  in  hand  and  ride  to  the  limit  of  his  pace,  or 
you  may  never  see  the  stern  of  a  hound  again  for  the  day. 

Isn't  it  glorious?  The  first  burst  of  speed,  when  you  are 
feeling  very  fit,  and  your  horse  is  feeling  just  a  little  above 
himself? 

"Where  now  are  all  your  sorroxcs,  disappointments,  wrongs? 
All!    All!    are  gone  and  in  the  rushing  wind. 
Left  far  behind" 

"Listen!"  asks  a  rider  of  his  neighbour,  "do  you  still  hear  the 
hounds?  No?"  Then  they  have  run  out  of  hearing  or  have  come 
to  a  check.  We  hope  it  is  the  latter  and  so  it  turns  out.  But 
what  a  gallop,  twenty  minutes  on  the  grass!  There  is  not  a 
horse  or  rider  whose  greed  for  pace  is  still  unsatisfied. 


yt  Da//  Wt^h  Ihc  Genesee  Valley  Ilouiuh  113 

Four  miles  Iroin  llic  liiul  and  hounds  are  really  at  fault. 
Their  own  cast  being-  incfi'cctual,  the  jSIaster  moves  them  care- 
fuUj'  forward  in  a  circular  swing,  and  on  arriving  well  back 
of  where  their  music  ceased,  sure  enough,  Reynard  had  played 
his  first  trumj)  card.  He  had  stopped  suddenly  on  the  line  he 
was  pursuing,  jumped  wide  to  the  right  or  left,  and  was  prob- 
ably running  back  on  a  parallel  line  to  the  way  he  came.  The 
hounds  were  running  at  such  a  great  speed,  they  overshot  the 
line,  as  the  artful  Reynartl  knew  they  would  do.  It  is  an 
old  and  favourite  trick,  but  thanks  to  our  INIaster's  woodcraft, 
the  run  is  by  no  means  over.  In  casting  Avell  back,  the  hounds 
hit  off  the  line,  and  once  more  the  "heaveidy  music"  fills  all  the 
valley  and  echoes  from  hill  to  hill.  By  this  time  it  is  common 
gossip  among  the  crows  and  blue  jays  for  miles  about  that  a 
cliicken-thief  fox  is  again  on  foot  wth  the  white,  black  and  tan 
chorus  hard  after.  What  a  race!  That  five  foot  stake  and 
rider  fence  stopped  half  of  the  field,  sent  some  to  the  grass, 
until  a  heavy  weight  lumbering  hunter  smashes  the  three  top 
rails  and  lets  the  field  get  through.  What  a  jolly  party  joins 
in  the  chase  as  we  enter  the  field,  fifty  racing  bullocks  and  half 
as  many  brood  mares  and  their  foals  join  in  the  gallop! 

What  a  sight!  Even  the  heavy  milch  cows  and  the  plod- 
ding old  farm  mares  forgetful  of  their  infirmities,  have  joined 
the  glad  throng  that  goes  galloping  on  with, 

"Three  cheers  for  the  science,  three  cheers  for  the  chase. 
The  hounds  that  ne'er  falter  nor  tire. 
Three  cheers  for  tlie  cattle  that  join  in  the  race, 
The  old  mare  and  her  foal  filled  with  fire." 

Once  more  a  check,  now  then,  Mr.  Reynard,  what  is  your 
plot  to  fool  the  hounds  this  time?  It  is  plain  enough.  As  we 
come  into  an  open  field  he  has  run  amongst  a  flock  of  sheep, 
knowing  full  well  his  own  scent  Avill  be  lost  by  their  stain. 
Wliich  way  now?     The  answer  is  ]Aiuu.     Towards  yonder  bill. 


114        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

the  dreaded  "Seven  Gullies."  Our  IMaster  sees  another  flock  of 
sheep  all  looking  in  one  direction,  he  hears  the  jay  birds  jaw- 
ing like  fish  -ttives  in  the  wood  bej^ond.  The  crows  also  are 
collecting  there  like  turkey  buzzards  to  help  "do"  the  outlaw 
of  the  wood.  Seven  Gulhes  is  Reynard's  point.  Now  friend, 
harden  your  heart  and  ride  to  save  your  horse,  for  a  trial  of 
strength  and  endurance  beyond  estimate  lies  before  you. 

What's  to  be  done  ?  The  signs  of  a  travelling  fox  on  yonder 
hill  make  it  certain  that  we  are  in  for  it  up  to  our  eyes.  Between 
riders  and  their  game  lies  the  Caneseraga  river,  a  most  difficult 
Avater  to  cross.  It  is  three  to  four  rods  wide,  runs  silent  and 
deep  between  precipitous  banks  of  alluvial  deposit.  No  shal- 
lows nor  bridge  for  a  mile  or  more  either  way.  Now,  lads,  you 
may  come  along,  for  away  sails  the  INIaster,  lifting  the  hounds 
smartly  on  along  the  dreaded  Caneseraga.  Sure  enough  the 
leading  hound  along  the  river  bank  is  madly  feathering.  "Ding- 
dong,"  goes  her  tongue,  every  hound  turns  to  her  cry,  as  they 
race  away  along  the  bank.  Then  halting  suddenly  they  make 
their  own  cast  back  and  one,  two,  three  at  a  time,  throw  them- 
selves headlong  down  the  bank  and  ai'e  swimming  for  the 
opposite  shore.  It  is  good  ten  feet  from  the  turf  to  the  Avater, 
but  there  is  no  time  to  question  where  or  how.  Down  goes  one 
rider,  another  follows  hard  after.  Other  places  are  found  in 
the  yielding  bank  and  in  less  than  five  minutes  the  creek  had 
troubled  waters  and  the  riders  troubled  hearts,  for  the  tallest 
horses  could  just  wade  across  and  keep  their  heads  above  water. 
A  plucky  farmer's  son  riding  a  roan  pony,  that  goes  completely 
under  water  as  he  enters  the  stream,  is  now  swimming  for  it. 
Our  boots  are  filling  with  water  in  spite  of  our  best  eff'ort  to 
hold  them  above  it.  But  cheer  up,  the  worst  is  yet  to  come. 
Although  the  opposite  bank  is  not  so  steep,  the  miry  condition 
of  the  soil  makes  it  almost  impossible  for  horses  to  take  their 
riders  out,  but  their  blood  is  up  and  away  go  the  horses  and 
riders,  dripping  like  sheep  at  a  river  washing.     It  is  plain  to 


A  Day  With  the  Genesee  Valley  Hounds  115 

see  that  Reynard's  point  is  the  dreaded  "Seven  Gullies."  Only 
the  best  eonditioned  horses  and  riders  go  on  with  the  game. 

^Ve  raee  away  up  the  crest  of  the  hill  and  by  the  time  we 
reach  there,  "There's  many  a  bellows  to  mend."  What  an 
awful  hole  this  first  gully  is!  Dismount  and  scramble  down 
the  best  you  can,  for  the  sides  are  as  steep  as  a  mansard  roof. 
Well  done,  but  what  a  dark  damp  dismal  place  it  is  in  the 
bottom!  However,  there  is  nothing  to  do  for  it,  but  to  harden 
your  heart  and  follow  your  leader  as  best  you  can,  hanging 
on  to  your  horse's  tail  to  help  you  up.  Thanks  to  the  stout 
heart  of  your  mount  and  your  own  stock  of  grit  and  courage, 
you  at  last  arrive  at  the  top  on  the  opposite  side.  This  ravine 
has  broken  the  heart  of  more  than  one  resolute  rider  and  sent 
him  and  his  good  mount  home  with  more  than  enough. 

Just  as  we  expected,  now  we  are  out  of  this  gully  we  are  at 
the  brink  of  another  gully  still  more  difficult  to  climb.  There 
is  nothing  to  do  for  it  but  go  on  with  the  game  until  the 
Master  says,  "Well,  gentlemen,  what  say  you  alii  Have  you 
had  enough?"  The  few  who  are  left  say  to  a  man,  "It's 
enough,"  but  just  then  the  hounds  who  have  been  out  of  hear- 
ing in  some  one  of  the  seven  gullies  are  heard  returning. 
"Wait  a  moment,"  cries  the  ISIaster,  "hounds  are  running  and 
are,  I  think,  coming  this  way."  All  thoughts  of  home  are 
banished.  Once  more  our  barometer  goes  up  from  zero 
with  such  a  rush  as  to  threaten  going  through  the  top  of  the 
glass. 

A  warning  hand  from  the  ]Master  bids  everyone  to  keep 
perfectly  still.  Here  come  the  hounds  at  full  cry,  while  less 
than  ten  rods  ahead  of  them  comes  the  artful  dodger,  who  runs 
nearly  onto  the  riders  before  he  discovers  his  error.  To  turn 
back  against  the  pack  is  death,  the  next  best  thing  for  him  to 
do  is  to  take  to  the  o])en  fields  to  the  east  and  this  he  does, 
cheered  on  by  all  the  riders  who  race  after  him  with  a  view  of 
driving  him  out  of  the  gullies.    On  come  the  hounds,  who  rush 


116        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

to  the  "Talh'^  ho  gone  aAvay,"  with  renewed  energy  out  into  the 
open  field.  They  are  soon  running  their  fox  from  scent  to 
view.  "Hi!  Hi!  Hi!"  shout  the  riders,  as  they  race  aAvay  to  the 
top  of  their  horses'  speed.  "Hi!  Hi!  Hi!"  One  field  more! 
Whatever  is  left  of  fox,  hounds,  horses  and  riders  is  now  being 
put  to  the  test,  Reynard's  brush  is  not  three  rods  from  the 
leading  hound.  "Hi!  Hi!  Hi!"  cheer  on  the  riders,  who  are 
but  a  field  behind  the  hounds.  Reynard's  point  is  evidently  an 
open  earth  which  he  knows  about  in  the  edge  of  the  wood 
he  has  nearly  reached.  Go  on,  good  hounds,  go  on,  good  horses, 
but  no,  it  is  not  to  be.  In  a  hollow  ahead  of  the  hounds  and 
just  out  of  view,  Reynard  plays  the  winning  card  and  is  well 
back  on  the  way  to  the  Seven  Gullies,  which  has  saved  the 
brush  of  hundreds  of  liis  tribe  and  family,  and  will  probably 
save  his  own  for  years  to  come.  Nevertheless,  as  Williams 
says, 

"Long  may  he  live  to  repeat  the  good  story 
He  told  us  to-day  in  this  wonderful  run. 
We'll  drink  to  his  honour  and  sing  to  his  glory 
With  all  the  good  fellows  who  shared  in  the  fun." 

It  was  a  hard  day,  but  it  was  worth  it  and  more.  Horses 
and  hounds  and  riders  were  done  to  a  turn,  still  there  is  enough 
left  in  them  to  jog,  jog,  jog,  trot,  trot,  trot,  the  long  ride 
home,  where  at  last  they  arrive  tired,  dirty,  hungry  and 
happy,  to  the  hearty  dinners  that  await  their  coming.  For  the 
riders,  at  least,  there  are  also  good  friends,  dear  friends,  and 
possibly  sweet  friends  to  welcome  them  and  to  encourage  them 
in  living  the  run  over  again,  while  the  fences  grow  higher,  the 
ditches  wider,  the  creeks  become  rivers  and  the  gullies  canyons. 


To  Dr.  Fred  Capon,  Toronto,  Ontario. 

For  all-round  Sportsmen  Canada  wins, 
Thcj/'re  the  best  set  of  fellows  that  live, 
Hunting,  shooting,  yachting  and  all 
With  a  handy  foot  for  a  skate  or  a  ball, 
And  a  xvelcome  as  free  as  a  sieve. 

X 

HUNTING  IN  CANADA 

PLENTY  OF  SPORT — OUR  NETGHBOURS — A  CANADIAN  SPORTSMAN 
— YACHTING — THE  TORONTO  HUNT  CLUB— WOMEN  RIDERS 
— A   sportsman's   PARADISE. 

TF  you  are  of  a  sporting  turn  of  mind,  you  will  find  more 
-^  boating,  yachting,  shooting,  fishing  or  hunting,  to  the 
square  inch  in  Canada  than  anywhere  in  the  western  hemi- 
sphere. 

In  the  first  place,  the  English  and  the  Scotch  blood  that 
runs  in  the  veins  of  our  Canadian  cousins  has  suffered  little 
or  none  by  being  transplanted  to  a  new  soil.  School  and  col- 
lege sports  are  played  there,  more  as  they  are  in  England; 
i.  e.,  for  the  fun  of  it.  Lacrosse,  the  national  game,  baseball, 
cricket,  canoeing,  rage  not  as  fads  but  as  an  effervescing 
expression  of  sport  for  sport's  sake.  They  must  play.  Noth- 
ing can  stop  them. 

Yachting  commences  with  the  going  out  of  the  ice  in  the 
spring  and  stops  at  the  beginning  of  winter,  a  httle  before 
ice  boating  begins. 


118       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

From  the  good  old  English  game  of  bowling  on  the  green 
to  the  grand  old  Scotch  game  of  curling  on  the  ice,  the  elderly 
men  have  as  little  break  in  their  accustomed  sports  as  do  their 
sons  and  daughters. 

Hockey  on  the  grass  keeps  the  young  men  in  fettle  for 
hockey  on  the  ice  and  vice  versa.  Skating,  tobogganing,  snow 
shoeing  and  ice  carnivals  make  the  winter  more  active  than 
the  summer,  and  fill  out  the  year  with  a  round  of  arduous 
sports  that  appeals  to  all. 

The  writer  speaks  of  the  Canadian  sportsmen  from  a  very 
intimate  acquaintance.  He  has  repeatedly  met  them  in  inter- 
national yacht  races,  a  place  to  try  men's  souls.  For  if  any- 
thing will  hunt  out  unsportsmanlike  qualities  in  a  man,  you 
can  depend  upon  it  an  international  j'acht  race  will  do  the 
work  to  perfection. 

You  may  put  him,  as  the  writer  has,  to  an  even  severer 
test;  viz.,  take  him  for  a  comjianion  on  a  week's  hunting  trip 
where  you  must  carry  your  own  kit,  and  pitch  your  camp 
when  night  overtakes  you  under  a  tent  or  a  lean-to  of  poles 
and  balsam  boughs,  and  unless  your  experience  differs  mate- 
rially from  the  writer's,  you  will  find  him,  whatever  his  faults, 
a  true  sportsman,  always  doing  his  share,  a  gentleman  and  a 
friend  to  the  end. 

America,  to  her  lasting  reproach,  has  seldom  played  fair 
with  Canada.  As  a  nation  we  have  chased  after  the  trade 
and  traffic  of  islands  washed  by  the  most  distant  seas  and 
have  slapped  in  the  face  our  next  door  neighbour,  the  best 
customer  we  have  in  the  world.  We  have  practised  the  Golden 
Rule  with  Cuba  and  the  Philippines,  wliile  we  have  never  loved 
our  neighbour  as  ourselves. 

Instead  of  cultivating  Canada,  we  have  invariably  driven 
her  to  buy  abroad,  what  she  would  naturally  have  bought 
nearer  home.  Americans,  as  a  rule,  have  never  appreciated 
Canada  nor  the  Canadian  people,  simply  because  we  do  not 


DR.  K.  J.  CAI 


THE  MONTREAL  KENNELS 


Hunting  in  Canada  119 

know  them  and  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  make  their 
acquaintance.  Nevertheless,  every  American  who  does 
know  the  Canadians  at  all  well,  will  agree  with  the  writer  in 
saying  that  as  a  nation,  the  Canadian  ])eople  have  no  superior. 
The  time  will  come  and  is  coming  fast  when  Americans  will 
wake  up  to  the  fact  that  they  are  living  beside  a  nation  and  a 
competitor  of  no  second-rate  importance.  I  would  like  my 
readers  to  have  a  glimpse  of  a  Canadian  sportsman  as  he  is 
at  home. 

As  a  fair  example,  let  me  introduce  3'ou  to  my  friend, 
formerly  Vice-Commodore  of  the  Royal  Canadian  Yacht 
Club  of  Toronto.  Here  he  comes  now  on  the  way  to  his  yacht 
the  Fou  Fou. 

A  misguided  youth  at  the  club  the  night  before  made  the  re- 
mark that  the  Fou  Fou  was  a  racing  machine  and  could  not  be 
beaten,  when  the  Commodore  turned  on  him  with  some  warmth 
saying,  "I  will  sail  your  boat  and  you  can  sail  the  Fou  Fou, 
and  I'll  beat  you  or  lose  ten  dollars."  That's  the  Commodore. 
The  Fou  Fou  is  of  the  skimming  dish  order,  twenty-five 
feet  over  all  and  sixteen  feet  water  line,  that  had,  with  the 
Commodore  at  the  helm,  been  wanning  hands  down.  This  ac- 
counts for  his  errand  to  the  bay  so  early  in  the  day. 

"I'm  a  truant  from  business  this  morning.  Come  along," 
he  cries,  "you  are  just  in  time.  I  have  been  trying  to  pick  up 
a  crew  all  the  way  down." 

It  was  a  race  from  start  to  finish  and  the  Fou  Fou  was 
beaten  by  the  length  of  her  stumpy  bowsprit. 

The  race  over,  we  slipped  into  our  riding  breeches  for  a 
ride  to  the  Toronto  Hunt  Club  and  to  visit  the  kennels.  We 
took  an  indirect  route  for  the  Hunt  Club  to  give  our  horses  a 
chance  "to  show  their  irons"  in  clearing  a  few  fences  and 
ditches  on  the  way,  also  for  the  purpose  of  crossing  a  wide, 
open  field  where  they  could  lay  themselves  out  in  a  racing 
gallop  on  the  beautiful  turf. 


120       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"It  takes  the  kinks  out  of  their  legs,"  explains  the  Commo- 
dore, "and  gives  them  a  relish  for  a  good  feed  of  oats  at  the 
club,  wliile  we  are  'worrying'  a  beefsteak  for  ourselves." 

Thus  we  arrive  at  the  Hunt  Club  stables,  horses  and  riders 
feeling  what  a  privilege  it  is  to  live  in  a  land  where  a  cross 
country  gallop  is  indulged  in,  to  the  enjoyment  of  man  and 
beast. 

The  writer  has  certainly  had  his  share  and  perhaps  more 
of  the  joys  of  hving,  but  there  is  no  one  spot  on  all  the 
earth  he  has  ever  visited  that  fits  him  all  round,  that  touches 
him  on  every  side,  like  Toronto.  To  sail  a  smart  yacht,  to 
ride  a  good  horse,  to  visit  one  of  the  best  packs  of  hounds  and 
most  orderly  kennels,  at  a  most  homelike  Hunt  Club  situated 
on  a  bluff  overlooking  Lake  Ontario;  and  then  spend  an 
evening  by  a  hickory  fire,  talking  yacht  and  hound,  horse  and 
sails  and  bits  and  anchors  with  the  best  fellows  alive,  until  the 
servants  had  retired  and  the  fire  burnt  to  coals  and  the  coals 
to  ashes — well,  that's  Toronto. 

There  is  also  a  Hunt  Club  at  Hamilton,  another  at  Guelph, 
Woodstock  and  London.  No  better  cross  country  horses 
come  to  the  States  than  those  wliich  are  found  in  this  part  of 
Canada.  It  is  owing  to  the  universal  use  of  thoroughbreds 
that  Canada  has  been  able  to  send  to  the  States  hundreds  of 
horses  annually,  for  saddle  and  hunting  purposes. 

The  oldest  organised  "Hunt  Club"  in  Canada,  which 
I  believe  is  also  the  oldest  in  America,  is  at  Montreal,  where 
they  hunt  the  wild  red  fox  over  a  rough  broken  country.  They 
have  a  very  fine  club  house  at  the  foot  of  JNIount  Royal,  wliich 
overlooks  a  most  beautiful  vale  and  farming  land,  suggest- 
ing a  landscape  not  unlike  good  old  England.  The  club 
possesses  a  fine  pack  of  hounds  and  the  best  appointed  ken- 
nels the  writer  knows  of  in  America,  the  IVIiddlesex  alone 
excepted. 

The  few  days'  cub  hunting  which  the  writer  enjoyed  with 


Hunting  in  Canada  121 

this  ])ack,  was  enough  to  show  him  that  the  whole  turnout 
was  as  ably  coiulucted  as  most  of  the  up-to-date  English 
packs. 

If  a  hunt  breakfast  at  the  meet  and  a  dinner  at  the  club 
after  a  day's  hunting,  to  talk  it  all  over,  is  not  enough  to  con- 
vert you,  or  if  a  few  hunting  songs,  a  Highland  jig,  or  a  sword 
dance  (by  the  popular  ^I.  F.  H.)  is  not  enough  to  put  you 
"en  rapport"  with  fox  hunting  for  the  rest  of  your  days,  your 
case  is  hopeless.  At  any  rate,  that  is  the  waj*  they  round  out 
a  good  hunting  day  "in  due  and  ancient  form,"  even  as  their 
daddies  have  done  in  merry  England  and  bonny  Scotland, 
since  the  bcgiiuiing.     That's  Montreal. 

But  we  did  not  finish  with  Toronto.  You  must  stay  for  a 
few  days'  hunting,  if  only  to  please  the  Commodore  and  see  a 
lot  of  good  gentlemen,  and  the  very  best  lot  of  women  riders 
the  writer  has  ever  met  with  in  a  single  day's  run  to  hounds. 
These  Toronto  ladies  are  not  only  the  most  accomplished 
riders,  but  they  are  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  Toronto  Hunt, 

"You  must  stay  over,"  says  my  friend,  "I  want  you  to  see 
our  ladies  riding  to  hoimds.  It  will  strain  your  heart  even 
if  it  is  past  breaking  just  to  see  them,  and  break  your  neck 
perhajjs  trjnng  to  keep  ])ace  with  them ;  nevertheless,  I  am  sure 
you  will  say,  'it  is  worth  it.'  The  same  afternoon  they  will 
sail  you  a  race  and  the  same  evening,"  continues  he,  "you  will 
find  them  the  best  partners  for  a  dance  you  ever  had  on  your 
arm." 

We  stayed  not  once,  but  many  times,  and  although  some 
years  have  gone  by  since  then,  the  mere  mention  of  Canada 
brings  a  vision  of  racing  yachts,  racing  hounds,  racing  riding 
habits  that  would  not  and  could  not  be  overtaken,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  charming  partners  that  nearly  danced  us  to  a  standstill, 
all  of  which  has  left  in  the  writer's  mind  a  hunger  and  thirst  for 
more  Toronto,  more  Canada.  Nor  have  we  said  all.  It  is 
here  we  stock  our  kits  for  an  annual  shooting  tri])  to  lower 


122       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Canada  and  sail  away  with  dogs  and  guns  down  the  St. 
Lawrence  and  its  rapids,  to  join  our  guides  in  the  forest  of 
Nova  Scotia  or  New  Brunswick;  but  all  that  is  in  pickle  for 
some  future  time,  when  the  pencil  is  sharp  and  the  season  is 
ripe. 

May  the  yachts  of  Toronto  Bay  never  grow  less  in  number; 
may  hound's  music  never  cease  at  the  Toronto  kennels;  may 
the  daughters  of  the  hunt  ever  remain  the  pride  and  dehght 
of  their  fathers,  their  brothers,  their  lovers  and  their  friends, 
and  may  they  leave  to  the  generation  to  come,  daughters  and 
sons  of  their  own  to  perpetuate  true  sport  to  the  end  of  time. 

Long  live  Toronto,  a  sportsman's  paradise!  Long  live 
Canada,  the  cradle  of  sportsmen  good  and  true! 


PART  II 
HUNTING  IN  EUROPE 


To  Sir  Gilbert  Greenall,  Bart. 

M.  F.  H.  Belvoir  Hunt, 

England. 

"There's  honesty  rvriUen  in  characters  clear 
And  bravery  stands  by  her  side. 
You  feel  when  you-  look  on  his  manly  career. 
That  these  are  the  men  that  make  England  so  dear. 
The  men  that  fill  England  with  pride." 

Poems  in  Pink. 


XI 
HUNTING  IN  ENGLAND 

PACKS  OF  HOUNDS — HUNTING  CENTRES — COST — GRASS  COUN- 
TRIES— RACING  PACKS — FOXES — WHERE  TO  GO — NATIONAL 
CH.VRACTERISTICS. 

THERE  are  in  the  United  Kingdom  (England,  Scotland 
and  Ireland)  something  like  four  hundred  and  fifty 
organised  Hunt  Clubs  that  follow  the  chase  on  certain  days  of 
the  week  from  the  first  of  October  to  the  first  of  April  or  JNIay. 
This  is  to  say  nothing  of  numerous  trencher-fed  packs  and 
small  garrison  hunts  to  be  met  with  in  many  parts  of  Great 
Britain.  Bailey's  Hunt  Directory  gives  the  number  of  packs  of 
foxhounds  with  regular  fixtures  in  England  as  one  hundred 
and  sixty-five,  Ireland  twenty-four,  Scotland  eleven;  total,  two 
hundred.  H.  A.  Brayden  in  his  interesting  book  "Hare  Hunt- 
ing and  Harriers,"  says,  "There  are  but  two  less  than  two 
hundred  packs  of  Harriers."  There  are  also  sixteen  packs  of 
staghounds  in  England  alone.  It  is  safe  to  say  there  are  forty 
or  fifty  packs  of  otterhounds,  and  foot  beagles,  to  say  notliing 
of  draghounds,  which  number  only  nine  for  the  United  King- 
dom. It  is  also  safe  to  say  that  of  the  one  hundred  and  sixty-five 
packs  of  foxhounds  in  England,  over  one  hundred  are  within  a 
radius  of  fifty  miles  of  Leamington,  which  may  be  considered 
the  hunting  centre  of  England.  This  is  spoken  of  as  "The 
Midlands,"  "The  Cream  of  the  Shires,"  "Grass  Countries,'"' 
etc. 

If  we  take  for  instance,  I^tica,  N.  Y.,  for  a  centre  and  from 
it  draw  a  circle  of  the  same  radius,  the  outer  edges  of  the  circle 
would  include  Watertown  on  the  north,  Albany  on  the  east, 
Binghamton  on  the  south.  Auburn  on  the  west.  Think  of 
ha\'ing  over  one  hundred  organised  packs  of  foxhounds  within 


126       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

tliis  territory,  to  say  nothing  of  harriers,  otterhounds,  beagle 
and  staghounds.  Tliis  will  probably  give  the  reader  a  very 
correct  idea  of  the  popularity  of  hunting  in  England.  It  is 
the  national  pastime  for  men  after  they  leave  school  and  col- 
lege. It  would  be  mere  guesswork  to  estimate  the  millions 
of  dollars  exjjended  yearly  in  England  alone,  for  the  indul- 
gence of  this  noble  and  manly  sport.* 

Fox  hunting  in  England  is  a  veiy  expensive  luxury,  but 
there  are  so  many  subscribers  that  the  expense  to  an  individual 
member  is  not  very  great  after  all.  It  costs  some  of  the  grass 
country  packs  £10,000  to  £12,000,  ($50,000  to  $60,000)  a 
year.  For  instance,  the  Master  of  the  Grafton  receives  a  sub- 
scription of  £8,000  per  year,  and  adds  £.3,000  per  annum  out 
of  his  own  pocket.  This  sum  goes  first  for  the  maintenance  of 
the  hunt,  the  mounting  of  the  huntsman  and  the  wliippers-in, 
the  poultry  fund — the  hunt  jjajang  liberally  all  claims  made  for 
poultry  or  lambs  said  to  be  destroyed  by  foxes.  The  hunt 
also  pays  for  the  maintenance  of  certain  coverts,  the  laying 
down  of  others  and  the  removal  of  wire  fencing. 

As  to  the  individual  cost  of  hunting,  it  ranges  from  a  free 
ride  for  the  farmer  element  of  the  hunt  to  as  much  as  a  swagger 
chappie  cares  to  spend.  Tliis  applies  to  America  as  well  as 
England. 

A  $125  hunter  carries  one  man  better  than  a  $2,500 
hunter  carries  another.  For  the  man  who  has  enough  but 
wishes  to  economise,  a  $500  hunter  boarded  at  $20  per  month 
during  the  hunting  season,  pastured  during  the  summer 
and  made  to  rough  it  during  the  winter — out  of  the  hunting 
season — may  hunt  once  a  week  and  enjoy  more  sport  than  the 

*In  an  article  on  "England  and  the  English"  in  Scribner's  Magazine 
for  March,  1909,  tlie  writer  says:  "An  accepted  authority  upon  all 
matters  of  sport  in  England  has  compiled  some  figures  as  to  the  invest- 
ment and  expenditures  upon  sport.  .  .  .  Invested  in  fox  hunting,  $78,- 
035,000:  spent  annually  for  the  same,  $43,190,000. 


Hunting  in  England  127 

other  man  with  a  big  strino"  of  thousand  doUar  hunters  with 
grooms  and  stable  boys — "Heating  their  'eads  off." 

Once  a  week  is  about  hunting  enough  for  a  single  horse, 
that  is,  with  most  riders,  but  some  men  can  ride  to  hounds 
twee  and  even  three  days  a  week  with  only  one  horse,  but  that 
one  of  course,  must  be  a  thoroughly  seasoned,  quahfied  hunter 
that  knows  the  game  and  is  ridden  by  a  man  who  knows  how 
to  ride  to  save  his  horse. 

The  writer  knows  several  men  in  England  Avho  ride  to 
hounds  five  days  a  week  with  only  two  hunters  and  a  hack  to 
ride  or  drive  to  the  "meets."  They  rarely,  if  ever,  miss  a  day, 
rain  or  shine,  and  this,  often,  on  horses  that  are  little  above 
screws.  Again  their  neighl)our  with  a  stable  of  ten  or  twelve 
hunters  that  cost  from  one  thousand  to  two  thousand  dollars 
each,  may  not  have  a  horse  in  the  string  fit  to  ride  after  the 
first  month.  It  is  sim])ly  impossible,  therefore,  to  give  an  esti- 
mate of  the  cost  of  hunting.  The  only  way  to  find  out  is  to 
cut  and  try.  In  yachting  one  man  will  get  more  sport  and 
pleasure  out  of  a  twenty  foot  yacht  costing  $250  than 
the  next  man  does  from  a  $250,000  investment.  It  is  not  so 
much  a  question  of  cost  as  inclination.  Hunting  is  more  a 
question  of  the  size  of  a  man's  heart  for  the  love  of  the  game, 
than  the  sizx'  of  his  pocketbook.  When  there  is  a  rdll,  the  way 
is  seldom  hard  to  find. 

It  is  a  fact  within  the  observation  of  all  that,  as  a  rule,  the 
men  who  indulge  in  outdoor  sports  and  enjoy  life  as  they  live 
it  are  seldom  found  among  those  who  can  have  what  they  want, 
but  rather  amongst  those  who  adapt  themselves  to  what  they 
can  have.  If  they  cannot  att'ord  a  40  foot  yacht,  they  own  or 
hire  a  20  footer.  If  they  cannot  buy  a  qualified  hunter,  they 
can  at  least  see  the  fun  from  the  back  of  a  colt  that  is  growing 
into  a  hunter.  It  might  be  too  much  to  say  that  poverty  is  a 
passport  to  becoming  a  sportsman,  but  it  is  by  no  means  such 
a  drawback  as  some  sui)pose.     There  are  thousands  of  men 


128       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

in  England  who  "never  had  money  enough,"  as  thej'  say  in 
jNIichigan,  "to  wad  a  gun,"  but  who  are  never  without  a  hunter 
to  ride,  a  yacht  to  sail,  and  a  gun  for  big  game  or  small. 

Owing  to  the  decline  in  agriculture  in  England,  there  is 
comparativelj^  little  land  under  the  plough.  Hay  and  grazing 
are  the  chief  source  of  agricultural  revenue.  Especially  is  this 
the  case  in  the  principal  hunting  centres  already  referred  to 
as  the  "Grass  Countries."  There  one  may  gallop  from  morn- 
ing until  night  over  fields  that  have  been  in  turf  for  100 
to  200  years,  possibly  more,  and  seldom  meet  with  a  bit  of 
plough  land  outside  of  a  garden  patch.  The  Midlands  are 
therefore  very  attractive  to  the  hard  riding  and  racing  men 
who  congregate  there  by  the  thousands,  many  of  them  to  hunt 
five  or  even  six  days  during  the  week. 

In  the  first  place,  the  damp  moist  climate  is  just  suited  to 
the  laying  of  scent  and  the  great  grass  fields  afford  the  best 
possible  conditions  for  holding  the  same.  This  makes  it  possible 
for  hounds  to  race  away  to  the  line  with  heads  up  and  at  a 
rate  that  only  the  very  highest  class  horses  can  follow. 

As  above  intimated,  the  "JNIidlands"  attract  largely  the  men 
Avho  hunt  to  ride,  and  for  that  same  reason  are  quite  as  repelling 
to  many  men  who  ride  to  hunt.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  the 
writer  has  a  most  decided  preference  for  the  latter  school;  he 
holds  that  hunting  the  fox  is  one  tiling,  racing  him  to  death 
quite  another.  If,  for  instance,  these  racing  packs  of  hounds 
are  hard  pressed  by  a  racing  crowd  of  riders,  M'hich  often  num- 
ber from  one  to  three  hundred,  and  there  is  a  check,  and  Rey- 
nard has  turned  back,  there  is  no  recovering  the  line.  It  is,  there- 
fore, largely  a  huntsman's  game.  Instead  of  giving  the  hounds 
a  chance  to  hunt  their  fox,  they  are  generally  lifted  smartly  on 
with  a  gamble  on  the  chance  of  recovering  the  line  or  picking 
up  another  line  for  another  race.  Still,  every  hunting  man 
who  visits  England  should  at  least  have  a  fling  with  a  Grass 
Country  pack ;  they  do  the  thing  up  proper  and  smart,  and  on 


Hunting  in  England  129 

a  good  horse  they  will  give  him  the  ride  of  his  life.  He  will 
find  at  the  prineipal  hunting  eentres  such  as  Melton,  iSIarket 
Harhorough,  Ciranthani,  Rugby,  Leicester,  Oakham,  etc.,  that 
he  is  among  the  best  horses,  the  best  riders,  the  best  packs  of 
hounds  to  be  found  in  the  world.  He  will  find  English  sports- 
men rather  shy  and  hard  to  get  accjuainted  with  Avithout  a  letter 
of  introduction,  but  when  once  the  icy  exterior  is  broken  you 
have  a  man  you  can  hitch  to,  a  friend  you  can  swear  by  and  a 
companion  you  can  love.  From  INIelton  you  may  hunt  with  the 
Quorn,  Cottesmore,  Belvoir.  From  IMarket  Ilarborough  with 
the  Cottesmore,  Pytehley  and  ]Mr.  Fernie's  hounds.  From 
Rugby  with  the  Pytehley,  Atherstone,  Warwickshire  and 
North  Warwickshire.  From  Leicester,  jMr.  Fernie's,  Ather- 
stone, Quorn.  From  Oakham,  the  Belvoir,  Quorn,  Cottes- 
more. All  of  these  ])acks,  we  believe,  hunt  five  days  a 
week.  By  a  short  train  run  you  may  hunt  over  a  still  wider 
district. 

From  what  has  been  said  it  must  not  be  inferred  that  all 
the  best  packs  of  England  are  within  this  enchanted  ground. 
So  far,  mention  has  been  made  of  but  eight  different  packs; 
there  must  still  remain  sometlaing  over  a  hundred  first  class 
packs  in  England  alone  to  select  from. 

Another  charm  about  hunting  in  England  is  the  style  and 
neatness  in  which  it  is  everywhere  conducted. 

In  the  writer's  personal  experience  he  may  mention  the 
Holderness  near  Hull,  a  racing  pack,  where  mostly  clean  thor- 
oughbreds are  ridden.  It  is  quite  as  fast  as  the  fastest  in  the 
INIidlands.  Then  comes  the  Earl  of  Yarborough's  celebrated 
pack  in  Lincolnshire.  These  hounds  have  a  written  pedigree 
extending  back  125  years  and  are  known  to  have  been  in  the 
family  for  thirty  years  prior  to  that.  IMany  years  ago,  when 
agriculture  was  prosperous  in  England,  Lord  Yarborough, 
who  was  a  very  extensive  landowner,  went  so  far  in  encourag- 
ing his  tenant  farmers  to  hunt,  that  he  presented  them  all  with 


130       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

a  full  hunting  suit,  pink  coat  and  all.  To  tliis  day  most  of  the 
tenant  farmers  in  that  portion  of  the  country  enjoy  the  sport. 
Some  one  asked  Lord  Yarborough  how  he  managed  to  secure 
such  a  lot  of  first  class  tenant  farmers.  "I  don't  secure  them," 
he  replied.  "I  breed  them."  This  is  almost  literally  true,  for 
most  of  the  leases  have  been  handed  down  from  father  to  son 
since  the  beginning. 

The  writer  well  recalls  a  meet  of  these  famous  hounds,  M. 
F.  H.  the  Earl  of  Yarborough,  at  the  farm  of  JNIr.  Charles 
Dudding,  a  famous  sheep  breeder.  There  were  over  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  riders  at  this  meet  and  over  half  were  farmers  or 
farmers'  sons.  Our  host  stayed  at  home  to  dispense  the  good 
things  from  his  hospitable  board,  which  were  partaken  of  by 
Lords  and  tenant  farmers  alike. 

Then  there  is  the  Blankney,  near  Nottingham,  one  of  the 
best  all  round  packs  of  hounds  the  writer  ever  hunted  with  in 
England.  The  Blankney  is  the  greatest  ditch  country  the 
writer  ever  encountered.  The  foxes  take  a  lot  of  hunting  and 
much  killing  but  there  are  plenty  of  them  and  a  blank  day  is 
unknown.  One  run  with  this  level,  hard-working  pack,  who 
hunt  down  their  game  in  the  most  workmanlike  manner,  will 
never  be  forgotten  by  the  writer. 

With  our  old  friend  Kirkham,  whom  readers  of  "Cross 
Country  with  Horse  and  Hound"  may  remember,  the  writer 
started  out  for  Bishopsthorpe  for  a  day  with  the  Blankney. 
It  was  a  prime  hunting  morning  and  our  horses  were  quite 
.above  themselves.  Hounds  jumped  their  fox  on  the  way  to 
covert  and  we  were  well  off  before  we  knew  what  had  happened. 
The  hounds  swooped  down  the  incline  after  him  hke  a  flock  of 
migrating  birds.  They  ran  him  so  hard  that  in  the  last  field 
they  were  not  a  rod  from  liis  brush.  Straight  for  the  cottage 
rolled  the  bundle  of  fur,  the  hounds  gaining,  but  very  slowly. 
Through  two  or  three  fields  hounds  pressed  their  game  hard, 
so  hard  in  fact,  he  ran  straight  for  a  little  thatched  cottage. 


Ilunthuj  ill  England  131 

The  door  of  the  cottage  being  open,  the  fox  ran  into  the  house 
and  was  pulled  down  by  the  hounds  under  the  dining  room 
table.  When  the  huntsman  could  get  in  there  the  old  lady  was 
standing  on  top  of  a  small  table,  her  dress  pulled  tightly  about 
her  ankles,  and  screaming  at  the  top  of  her  voice.  Underneath 
and  around  the  dining  room  table  twenty-two  couple  of  hounds 
were  quarrelling  and  fighting  for  possession  of  their  game.  As 
the  huntsman  reached  the  door  a  table  leg  gave  way  and  over 
went  the  dishes,  dinner  and  all  among  the  surging,  snarling 
pack.  This  pack  at  that  time  had  hunted  ninety-eight  days 
and  had  killed  one  hundred  and  one  foxes. 

"The  Vale  of  the  White  Horse  Hunt"  is  another  genuine 
hunting  institution,  and  Cirencester,  where  the  hounds  are 
located,  is  a  convenient  centre.  Some  of  the  most  charming 
men  in  all  England  train  with  these  hounds.  Then  there  is  the 
Warwickshire,  with  which  ])ack  the  writer  had  a  memorable 
run  in  the  wake  of  that  most  accomplished  cross  country  rider, 
the  Countess  of  Warwick.  The  South  Staffordshire  Hunt  near 
Liclifield  is  the  right  sort  altogether.  It  was  the  custom  of 
these  big-hearted  Staffordshire  farmers  to  put  a  good  piece  of 
fresh  meat  at  each  fox's  earth  on  Christmas  eve,  so  they  might 
enjoy  like  themselves  a  good  Xmas  dinner.  A  fox's  mask 
and  brush  })resented  to  the  writer  by  the  master.  Sir  Charles 
Cooper,  at  the  end  of  a  hard  day's  run,  is  especially  prized. 
And  last  but  not  least,  a  day  with  the  North  Warwickshire 
hounds  from  Banbury  Cross  with  our  esteemed  friend  and 
sportsman,  Artist  J.  Crawford  Wood,  whose  clever  hand  did 
so  much  to  enrich  the  chapters  of  "Cross  Country  with  Horse 
and  Hound,"  was  most  enjoyable. 

It  was  from  Banbury  Cross  "upon  a  cock  horse"  that  many 
a  hunting  man  received  his  first  taste  of  cross  countrj',  riding 
astride  his  father's  stout  boot,  that  always  managed  to  spill  him 
over  the  last  fence  or  ditch. 

Wherever  you  may  drop  down  on  the  sod  of  ]Merry  Eng- 


132       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

land  you  will  find  yourself  in  reach  of  a  pack  of  hounds  and 
wherever  that  is  you  will  find  also,  fiirst  class  accommodations 
for  man  and  beast,  and  someone  not  too  far  away  of  whom  you 
may  hire  a  mount. 

Of  all  the  delightful  places  to  put  up,  a  village  inn  in  a 
favourite  hunting  district  fills  the  bill.  The  larger  hotels  are  as 
a  rule  dreary,  lonesome,  forbidding  affairs. 

At  all  the  leading  hunt  centres  there  are  any  quantity  of 
hunting  boxes  with  first  class  stabhng  for  rent  from  £60  to 
£600  or  more  for  the  season.  It  is  quite  the  fasliion  in  Eng- 
land to  hire  such  a  small  country  or  suburban  box  with  two  to 
four  acres  of  land  and  to  leave  the  hunters  there  all  summer 
in  charge  of  a  groom.  Some  sell  out  root  and  branch  and 
buy  again  a  few  months  before  the  season  opens.  Others  flit 
about,  hunting  from  a  dozen  different  centres  during  the  sea- 
son, depending  on  mounts  from  "Jobmasters."  Tliis  is  as 
economical  a  way  as  any,  and  as  most  Jobmasters  will  mount 
a  man,  especially  a  stranger,  as  well  or  better  than  he  can 
mount  himself,  it  usually  gives  good  satisfaction,  especially 
to  visiting  sportsmen. 

What  astonishes  an  American  most  is  where  all  the  foxes 
come  from  to  supply  each  club  with  three  to  five  kills  a  week. 
A  blank  day  is  quite  unusual  anywhere,  and  a  day  when  there 
is  a  run  that  the  fox  fails  to  be  accounted  for  is  also  unusual. 
Frank  Gillard  during  his  26  years  as  huntsman  to  the  Belvoir 
killed  2709  foxes,  an  average  of  over  100  per  season,  which  is 
also  about  the  average  number  of  runs  between  the  opening 
day  about  September  15th  and  the  closing  day  in  the  latter 
part  of  April.  There  are  many  other  packs  that  can  show  as 
good  and  even  better  records  than  the  above.  Americans  who 
are  mostly  accustomed  to  blank  days  and  runs  without  a  kill 
wonder  at  the  great  difference  in  this  respect  between  the  two 
countries.  It  is  easily  accounted  for.  First,  nearly  every  farm 
in  Great  Britain  is  a  game  preserve  and  most  of  the  larger 


Ilunling  in  England  183 

estates  have  gamekeepers  who  rear  and  put  out  thousands  of 
pheasants,  partridges  and  grouse.  Rabbits  and  hares  are  plen- 
tiful nearly  everywhere.  On  this  account  English-bred  foxes 
have  always  plenty  of  food  at  hand,  while  in  the  States  a  fox 
must  travel  a  great  distance  to  obtain  a  meagre  living.  English 
foxes  come  uj)  in  daily  sight  of  gamekeepers  and  others  who  are 
most  careful  not  to  disturb  them.  American  foxes  on  the  con- 
trary are  as  wild  as  possible.  They  are  hardened  to  travel 
and  have  found  in  their  wide  going  about  every  available 
spot  of  safety.  On  these  accounts  they  are  rarely  run  into  and 
never  will  be  until  we  have  earth  stoppers  to  locate  them  and 
plenty  of  rabbits  and  other  game  for  them  to  eat. 

The  writer  has  often  been  asked  where  to  go  to  see  the  most 
interesting  sport  in  following  the  chase.  From  liis  limited 
knowledge  he  would  suggest  the  following: 

Reach  England  by  August  1st.  Have  a  day  at  least  with 
the  Essex  otterhounds,  headquarters  at  Chelmsford.  Then 
locate  at  the  Peacock  Inn,  Belvoir  near  Grantham,  for  a  visit 
to  the  famous  castle  and  kennels  and  a  week's  cub  hunting  with 
the  finest  pack  and  the  best  new  entrj^  hounds  in  the  world. 
Then  go  to  Minehead,  Somerset,  for  the  opening  meet  of  the 
Devon  and  Somerset  staghounds,  about  August  1.3th.  There 
will  be  seen  four  or  five  hundred  riders  and  about  as  many 
pedestrians  at  the  meet,  which  is  always  at  Cloutsham.  The 
mount  must  be  engaged  sometime  ahead.  Then  on  the  way 
back  to  London  have  a  day  in  the  Quantock  Hills  from  Taun- 
ton, hunting  the  wild  red  deer.  By  this  time  the  fox  hunting 
season  is  open.  Then  fly  away  to  the  opening  meet  of  the 
Quorn,  which  is  always  at  Kirby  Gate.  Opening  meets  as  a 
rule  are,  on  account  of  the  crowd,  to  be  avoided,  but  any  hunt- 
ing man  \-isiting  England  should  not  fall  to  see  the  show. 
After  a  week  with  the  Quorn,  settle  down  at  Melton  Mowbray 
or  Oakham  or  Leicester,  and  have  a  day  with  the  Pytchley, 
Atherstone  and  Cottesmore.     Then  try  a  week  wth  Lord 


134       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hoiind 

Rothschild's  staghounds,  locating  at  the  Red  Lion  Hotel, 
Leighton  Buzzard.  Whatever  you  do,  don't  miss  the  Blankney 
Hunt  and  a  few  days  with  the  Windermere  Harriers  in  the 
most  beautiful  part  of  beautiful  Great  Britain,  with  head- 
quarters at  Ambleside,  Lake  Windermere,  or  better  still,  the 
Ferry  Hotel  across  the  lake  from  Bowness. 

Then  if  you  would  hke  a  good  jolly  drag  hunt,  go  out  with 
the  students  of  Oxford  University.  It  is  the  real  thing  and  the 
best  drag  hunting,  to  the  writer's  notion,  in  England;  besides 
Oxford  is  the  finest  to^vn  in  all  England,  in  which  to  spend 
a  few  weeks.  If  you  can  sprint  a  little,  a  day  with  one  of 
the  three  college  foot  beagles  will  quite  complete  the  role.  This 
should  give  you  the  best  in  variety  that  England  has  to  offer 
and  that  is  the  best  in  the  world.  If  by  this  time,  you  are  not 
in  love  with  rural  England  and  Enghsh  methods  of  field 
sports,  the  Avriter  will  be  greatly  disappointed,  for  in  spite  of 
its  "beastly"  weather  (it  has  no  climate) ,  it  is  the  ideal  country 
of  all  the  world  for  a  man  who  loves  outdoor  sports  and  rural 
hfe. 

One  mistake  that  most  Americans  make  in  visiting  England 
is  in  rushing  from  Liverpool  to  London  visiting  a  few  cathedral 
towns  and  deceiving  themselves  with  the  idea  that  they  have 
done  England. 

A  few  letters  of  introduction  will  put  you  right,  but  with- 
out them  your  progress  will  be  slow  and  your  welcome  very 
incomplete.  Englislimen  are  very  shy  of  strangers,  especially 
foreigners,  until  they  know  from  someone  who  or  what  you 
are.  As  a  rule,  it  is  not  a  question  of  wealth.  If  you  are  a  bit 
of  a  sportsman,  you  are  welcome  even  if  you  are  poor.  If  you 
can  shoot  or  sing,  drive  or  play,  ride  or  write,  whatever  your 
accomplisluiients,  you  are  welcome.  The  question  of  how  much 
you  are  worth  financially  is  not  the  first  and  last  question 
to  be  determined.  There  is  less  snobbishness  among  the  long 
pedigreed  nobility  of  England  than  is  often  found  among 


Iluuthuj  in  England  135 

wealthy  Americans,  who  don't  know  the  pedigree  of  their 
near  ancestors. 

"A  fine  old  English  Gentleman  I  see, 
A  friend,  a  companion,  to  cheer, 
A  sportsman  he  is  from  his  head  to  his  heels, 
The  best  breeds  of  cattle  are  found  in  his  fields. 
He  is  honest  and  true,  never  fear." 


"Wondrous  Belvoir,  to  thy  Spacious  Vale, 
Sweet  Castle  and  thy  farthest  prospects  hail. 
Where  Margumum,  seat  of  heroes  old. 
Once  stood." 

Peck  (A.  D.  1727) 

"Far  shall  his  pack  he  famed,  far  sought  his  breed." 

Somervile. 

XII 

A  DAY  WITH  THE  BELVOIR  FOXHOUNDS 

THE     PEACOCK     INN — BELVOIR     CASTLE — BELVOIR      KENNELS 

NOTED    HUNTSMEN — PERFECTION    IN    HOUND    BREEDING — 
BEN   CAPELL. 

TT  would  certainly  be  an  omission  to  serve  stuffed  goose 
-*-  without  the  stuffing.  It  would  be  equally  as  great  an  omis- 
sion to  attempt  to  describe  fox  hunting  in  England  without 
putting  in  a  day  with  the  Belvoir. 

The  present  Master — Sir  Gilbert  Greenall,  Bart. — is  to  be 
congratulated  for  his  adherence  to  the  time  honoured  customs 
and  hunting  traditions  of  the  chase,  especially  in  a  country 
where  the  temptation  to  lower  hunting  to  something  resem- 
bling a  cross  between  steeplechasing  and  flat  racing  is  the 
rule.  It  must  not  be  inferred  from  this  that  the  Belvoir  is 
a  "slow  country,"  for  it  is  not,  but  there  seems  to  be  more  of 
the  hunting  spirit  in  it  than  in  some  so-called  swagger  packs 
that  hunt  the  grass  countries.  However,  "Everyone  to  his 
liking." 

It  would  be  a  great  pleasure  for  the  writer  to  take  his 


A  Day  With  the  Bclvoir  Foxhounds  137 

readers  to  the  hunting  field  where  the  INIaster  has  a  kindly  wel- 
come for  all,  and  where  liis  clever  huntsman,  Ben  Capell,  is  a 
star  performer,  among  the  best  of  his  craft  in  handling  the 
j)ack,  and  an  artist  in  outwitting  his  game. 

Nevertheless  good  and  perfect  as  is  the  management  and 
appointment  of  the  Belvoir  Hunt  in  the  field,  its  crowning 
glory  is  at  the  kennels.  As  tliis  most  celebrated  ])ack  of  hounds 
has  for  many  years  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  being  the  "pre- 
mier pack  of  Great  Britain,"  the  writer  has  decided  to  devote 
this  chapter  to  "A  Day  with  the  Hounds  at  Belvoir  Kennels," 
ratlier  than  in  the  field. 

Whosoever  has  followed  the  writer's  chapter  on  hound 
breeding,  rearing  and  management  in  "Cross  Country  with 
Horse  and  Hounds,"  as  well  as  his  remarks  on  the  subject  in 
previous  chapters  of  this  book,  will  readily  understand  the 
value  he  places  on  hound  breeding  as  it  is  generally  conducted 
in  England,  and  pardon  him,  it  is  hoped,  if  in  this  chapter 
he  repeats  some  of  the  thoughts  expressed  in  his  previous  work. 

To  anyone  at  all  interested  in  hound  breeding,  a  visit  to 
the  Belvoir  Kennels  is  most  enjoyable.  The  annual  Peter- 
boro'  Hound  Show  is  something  beautiful  to  see,  and  no  hunt- 
ing man  visiting  England,  in  the  month  of  July,  should  fail  to 
attend  it.  But  interesting  as  the  Peterboro'  show  is,  a  day 
at  Belvoir  and  a  chat  with  the  cheery  huntsman  is  the  best 
show  of  all.  If  you  go  once,  you  will  surely  wish  to  go  again, 
at  least  the  writer  found  his  seventh  annual  pilgrimage  to  Bel- 
voir more  interesting  than  ever  before.  Possibly  he  cannot  do 
better  than  attempt  to  take  his  readers  there  in  the  usual  course. 
From  London  we  will  ticket  to  Grantham.  "A  feed"  at  the 
"Angel,"  and  a  drive  to  Belvoir  Castle,  where  we  put  u])  at 
the  "Peacock,"  a  wayside  inn  under  the  shadow  of  Belvoir 
Castle.  Belvoir  Castle  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful,  as  well  as 
one  of  the  best  preserved  castles  of  feudal  times  now  standing 
in  Enffland.     Our  stout  hostess  of  the  Peacock,  with  a  coun- 


138       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

tenance  as  shiny  as  good  soap  and  water  can  make  it,  and  as 
ruddy  as  good  blood  can  colour  it,  takes  us  in  hand  like  the 
mother  she  is  to  all  her  guests.  We  drop  into  the  place  that 
seems  to  fit  us  Mke  a  pair  of  old  shppers,  and  are  contented 
and  comfortable  from  the  first. 

We  then  dispatch  a  note  to  the  kennels  to  inquire  if  it  will 
be  convenient  for  us  to  visit  them  on  the  following  afternoon, 
the  time  of  day  most  huntsmen  prefer  callers. 

While  lunch  is  being  prepared,  we  will  visit  the  stable  yard 
where  there  is  sure  to  be  a  couple  of  hound  puppies  at  walk, 
and  some  hunters  in  sight — or  take  a  stroll  along  the  liighway 
where  pheasants  and  rabbits  are  always  in  view. 

At  lunch  our  hostess  entertains  us  with  information  con- 
cerning the  visit  we  are  to  pay  to  the  castle,  wliich  is  open  to 
visitors  from  2  to  4  p.  m.  This  she  seasons  with  a  bit  of  gossij) 
concerning  the  present  owner,  the  7th  Duke  of  Rutland,  and 
the  other  great  dukes  and  duchesses,  and  lesser  members  of 
this  historic  family.  John  Manners,  the  second  son  of  the  first 
Earl  of  Rutland,  will  be  remembered  for  all  time  as  the  hero 
of  a  most  romantic  love  affair  with  Dorothy  Vernon,  daughter 
of  the  fierce  "King  of  the  Peak."  How  John  Manners  lay 
for  days  and  nights  in  the  wood  about  Haddon  Hall  for  a 
glimpse  of  liis  sweetheart  and  how  on  a  dark  rainy  night, 
he  rode  to  the  hall  and  while  the  dancers  footed  it  merrily  in 
the  "festal  light,"  Dorothy  Vernon  slipped  away  from  the  ball 
room,  was  lifted  into  the  saddle  and  galloped  away  through  the 
forest  with  her  determined  lover.  How  the  infuriated  father, 
with  fifty  mounted  riders,  rode  madly  after  in  fruitless  chase 
and  how  some  twelve  months  afterwards  the  happy  Dorothy 
returned  to  her  father  with  liis  grandchild  in  her  arms,  obtained 
forgiveness  and  finally  became  heir  to  Haddon  Hall,  wliich  to 
this  day  remains  in  the  possession  of  the  present  Duke  of  Rut- 
land. Haddon  Hall  is  no  longer  inliabited,  the  present  Duke 
of  Rutland  residing  at  Belvoir. 


SIR   GILBERT   GRKENALL    M.    F 


A  Day  With  the  lielvoir  Foxhounds  139 


"Bclvoir!  nekfhhour  to  the  shy 
That  Kith  light  doth  deck  its  brows — 
lielvoir!  Art's  masterpiece  and  nature's  pride." 

Ilarleian  Miscellany.    (A.  D.  17G9) 

Belvoir  Castle  is  situated  on  the  top  of  a  hill  rising  abruptly 
out  of  the  great  Belvoir  \' ale,  the  hill  itself  being  a  prominent 
landmark  for  twenty  to  thirty  miles  in  every  direction.  Tlie 
castle  occupies  all  the  level  space  on  top  of  the  hill,  the  ground 
falling  quite  precipitately  away  on  all  sides.  The  panoramic 
view  from  the  castle  is  one  of  the  most  commanding,  and  for 
rural  scenery  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  England.  There 
stretches  in  every  direction  a  great  carpet  of  green,  divided  by 
hedge  fences,  or  rows  of  stumpy  willows  that  mark  the  courses 
of  creeks  and  brooklets.  Everywhere  scattered  over  tliis  most 
fertile  vale  are  great,  spreading  forest  trees,  clumps  of  planted 
game  coverts,  or  "spinnies"  of  from  one  to  three  acres  in 
extent.  The  hill  on  which  the  castle  stands  has  been  left  a 
natural  forest,  through  which  w^inding  carriage  drives  and 
vine-covered  walks  lead  to  the  castle.  High  as  these  forest 
trees  are,  the  noble  castle  caps  the  hill  with  towering  turrets, 
parapets,  and  gables  that  rise  far  above  them — a  magnificent 
monument  to  the  powerful  family  who  in  the  old  feudal  days 
went  to  battle  with  their  own  followers  and  an  armed  troop 
of  cavaliers  who  dwelt  under  the  same  roof. 

It  is  not  the  purpose  of  tliis  chapter  to  devote  more  space 
to  this  most  beautiful  of  all  English  castles,  nor  to  dwell  on  the 
wonderful  paintings,  tapestry,  relics,  and  souvenirs  of  the 
noble  dukes  who  have  lived  there. 

"To  carry  the  horn  for  the  Belvoir,"  says  Mr.  Cuthbert 
Bradley  in  his  charming  book,  "Hunting  Reminiscences  of 
Frank  Gillard."  "has  always  been  considered  the  topmost  rung 
in  the  ladder  of  fame,  by  all  the  professional  talent."  This  book 


140       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

covers  the  experience  of  the  clever  huntsman  and  most  noted 
hound  breeder,  Frank  Gillard,  who  was  huntsman  to  the  Bel- 
voir  for  26  years  prior  to  the  time  when  the  present  Duke  of 
Rutland  resigned  liis  position  of  ]\Iaster  of  his  own  hounds. 
This  was  in  1896,  when  His  Grace  had  arrived  at  liis  seventy- 
fifth  year. 

"He  owed  his  old  age  and  his  stamina  sound 
To  the  genuine  love  for  the  horse  and  the  hound." 

There  is  an  old  sajang  that  "the  hours  spent  in  the  chase 
are  not  reckoned  against  us  in  the  numbering  of  our  days." 
From  the  great  number  of  men  between  sixty  and  ninety 
years  old  that  are  still  riding  to  hounds,  it  would  seem  that 
this  saying  might  more  properly  be  called  an  axiom.  Speaking 
of  elderly  men  in  the  hunting  field,  Parson  Bullin  of  the  Bel- 
voir  hunted  up  to  liis  ninetieth  year.  He  has  been  known  to  go 
out  in  the  forenoon,  return  to  his  parish  for  a  wedding  or 
funeral,  and  be  out  and  at  it  again  the  same  afternoon.  The 
great  Atherton  Smith  carried  the  horn  to  his  own  pack  up  to 
his  eightieth  year.  About  this  time  he  was  invited  to  bring  his 
hounds  into  the  Quorn  country.  So  great  was  his  popularity 
that  upwards  of  two  thousand  superbly  mounted  horsemen 
were  present  to  meet  him  and  join  in  the  chase. 

John  Peel,  another  veteran  past  master  huntsman  of 
national  reputation,  carried  the  horn  up  to  his  eightieth  year. 
A  favourite  hunting  song  will  keep  his  memory  green  to  the 
end  of  time. 


'D'ye  hen  John  Peel  with  his  coat  so  grey. 
D'ye  ken  John  Peel  at  the  break  of  day, 
D'ye  ken  John  Peel  when  he's  far  away. 
With  his  horse  and  his  hounds  in  the  morning?" 


THE   UUKK   OF   KUTI.ANI),    M.    F.    H. 


A  Day  With  the  lidvoir  Fowhoutid.s  141 

His  son,  John  Peel,  Jr.,  went  his  ilhistrious  sire  one  better, 
for  he  rode  to  hounds  nearly  up  to  his  ninetieth  anniversary. 

There  is  scarcely  a  hunt  club  in  Great  Britain  that  does  not 
boast  of  from  one  to  half  a  dozen  or  more  followers  of  the  chase, 
who  are  past  their  four  score  mark.  Let  us  hark  back  to 
the  hne. 

On  his  retirement,  the  Duke  of  Rutland  called  a  meeting  of 
sportsmen,  tenants,  farmers,  and  patrons  of  the  hunt,  and 
turned  the  pack  and  kennels  over  to  a  committee,  with  the 
object  of  continuing  the  sport  in  the  vale,  forever,  as  it  had 
existed  since  fox  hunting  began. 

The  committee  selected  Sir  Gilbert  Greenall,  Bart.,  to  fill 
the  position  of  "JNIaster"  and  the  horn  was  entrusted  to  Ben 
Capell,  who  came  from  the  Blanknej',  where  he  had  been  carry- 
ing the  horn  for  ten  seasons  and  who  formerly  was  whipper-in 
to  Tom  Firr,  the  celelTrated  huntsman  of  the  Quorn.  Few 
huntsmen  have  ever  had  a  more  difficult  position  to  fill.  Onlj^ 
four  huntsmen  had  preceded  him  during  a  century;  each  one 
had  been  a  noted  huntsman  and  hound  breeder.  Gillard,  how- 
ever, accomplished  more  than  all  the  others,  for  during  his  term 
as  huntsman  he  practically  carried  hound  breeding  to  perfec- 
tion. Of  course  the  foundation  that  made  this  possible  had  been 
laid  over  two  hundred  years  before  by  the  tenth  Earl  of  Man- 
ners, who  afterwards  became  first  Duke  of  Rutland.  "The 
pack,"  says  Bradley,  "was  established  in  1086,  and  formerly 
was  supposed  to  be  kept  to  hunt  deer."  "The  foxhound  list 
and  pedigree  were  first  kept,"  says  the  same  authority,  "at  the 
Kennels  in  1750.  Nevertheless  to  Frank  Gillard  is  given  the 
credit  of  elevating  the  pack  to  the  distinction  of  being  "the  best 
in  the  world."  For  Ben  Capell  to  undertake  to  fill  such  a  posi- 
tion was  indeed  something  imusual,  for  the  eyes  of  the  fox 
hunting  world  were  upon  him,  and  predictions  were  every- 
where made  that  there  could  be  but  one  Frank  Gillard.  In 
spite  of  all  such  prophecies,  the  pack  has  steadily  gone  on  under 


142       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

the  present  management  to  even  a  higher  rank  than  ever.  For- 
tunate also  is  the  pack  for  having  as  the  ]\Iaster,  Sir  Gilbert 
Greenall,  who  takes  a  practical  and  personal  interest  in  the 
breeding  and  mating  of  the  hounds  and  has  given  as  much  care 
and  attention  to  maintain  the  high  standard  of  the  pack  as  any 
of  its  former  noble  Masters.  He  is  also  one  of  the  largest 
breeders  of  horses  in  England  and  his  experience  in  the  stable, 
no  doubt,  has  been  of  great  use  to  liim  in  the  kennels. 

Fortunate,  indeed,  has  been  tliis  family  pack  to  have  had 
so  few  huntsmen,  and  all  men  who  have  strictly  adhei'ed  to  a  hne 
of  breeding  that  has  given  such  satisfactory  results.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  at  the  same  time,  hundreds  of  Masters  and 
huntsmen  were  proceeding  on  similar  lines  or  lines  of  their 
own;  all  in  the  keenest  and  most  sportsmanlike  rivalry  to 
obtain  tliis  improvement;  all  with  an  ideal  foxhound  in  their 
mind's  eye,  to  Avliich  standard  of  excellence  they  were  stri\'ing 
to  elevate  their  packs.  To  "win  out"  in  a  contest  of  this 
measure  is  a  distinction  that  may  well  be  looked  uj)on  with 
pride  by  any  fox  hunting  man  or  hound  fancier  in  the  world. 

Two  hundred  A^ears  is  a  long  time  to  work  and  strive  and 
wait,  and  still  there  is  room  for  improvement,  for  out  of  over 
100  i^uppies  sent  yearly  to  "walk"  from  the  Belvoir  Kennels, 
not  more  than  one  in  three  is  found  perfect  enough  to  meet 
the  required  standard,  as  they  are  judged  on  the  flags.  Of  tliis 
select  number,  another  "draft"  is  made  of  hounds  that  for 
some  fault  or  other,  or  because  they  do  not  work  in  harmony 
with  the  pack,  are  also  weeded  out,  so  that  for  a  year's  crop  of 
puppies  fifteen  or  twenty  couple  is  the  most  that  can  possibly 
hope  to  become  working  members  of  that  honoured  band.  Still, 
indifferent  as  these  drafted  hounds  may  be,  they  are  all  be- 
spoken for,  five  or  six  years  in  advance. 

During  the  year,  the  kennels  are  visited  by  Masters  and 
huntsmen  from  all  over  Great  Britain,  who  make  a  yearly 
pilgrimage  hither  to  see  the  new  entry  come  in,  discuss  hound 


H   TO   GET   THROUGH 


BKN   CAPELL,    HUNTSMAN 


u:i  Daij  With  the  Belvoir  Foxhounds  143 

breeding  with  tlie  genial  huntsman  and  obtain  his  advice  on 
Subjects  of  general  interest. 

In  spite  of  the  great  rivalry  that  has  always  existed  in 
England  in  hound  breeding,  it  has  ever  been  the  sportsman- 
like practice  of  the  Dukes  of  Rutland  to  permit  all  other  Mas- 
ters of  hounds  to  obtain  the  blood.  In  so  doing,  the  Belvoir  has 
refrained  from  entering  in  competition  at  Peterboro',  where 
as  a  rule  Belvoir  blood  from  other  kennels  has  carried  off  the 
prizes.  Few  people  outside  of  huntsmen  and  JNIasters  appre- 
ciate what  it  means  to  breed  a  perfect  foxhound.  The  require- 
ments are  so  high  and  so  numerous  that  an  attempt  to  com- 
bine them  in  a  single  animal  is  a  task  so  great  as  to  make  the 
breeding  of  all  other  domestic  animals  mere  child's  play  in 
comparison.  In  "Cross  Country  with  Horse  and  Hound," 
the  writer  said  in  substance:  "The  English  foxhound  as  he 
stands  to-day,  is  the  highest  example  of  the  art  and  science  of 
breeding  for  improvement  of  any  domestic  animal — the  horse 
not  excepted."  Tliis  is  indeed  a  sweeping  statement,  and  is 
doubtless  looked  upon  by  some  as  extravagant.  JNIost  pure 
bred  domestic  animals  are  bred  with  the  idea  of  perfecting 
them  in  one  particular, — the  horse  either  for  speed  or  draught, 
the  cow  for  milk  or  beef,  the  sheep  for  wool  or  mutton.  So 
difficult  is  it  to  obtain  in  these  animals  perfection  in  more  than 
one  quality,  that  breeders  have,  as  a  rule,  given  it  up  as  unsatis- 
factory, and  confine  their  energies  to  the  development  of  a 
single  characteristic,  besides  colour  markings,  etc.  that  distin- 
guish the  particular  breed. 

The  English  foxhound,  as  he  is  bred  to-day  in  England, 
must  possess  in  addition  to  colour  and  markings  that  distinguish 
the  family,  more  high  class  qualifications  than  any  other  domes- 
tic animal.  His  origin  was  a  cross  between  the  bloodliound  and 
the  greyhound;  one  of  his  parents  hunted  by  sight  only,  the 
other  by  nose;  one  ran  mute,  the  other  gave  tongue — the  very 
swiftest  and  the  very  slowest.     To  harmonise  these  conflict- 


144       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

ing  characteristics  in  a  single  animal,  to  modify  this,  perpetuate 
that,  to  exterminate  one  tiling  and  ingraft  another,  was  the 
problem.  Out  of  tliis  oil  and  water  mixture  to  produce  a  per- 
fect hound  was  a  task  of  greater  magnitude  than  has  ever  been 
successfully  carried  out  with  any  other  line  of  cross  breeding. 
The  persistent,  methodical,  painstaking  English  Masters  and 
their  huntsmen  have  been  working  at  this  for  over  200  years. 
The  best  results  yet  to  be  achieved,  as  we  have  already  shown, 
are  found  at  the  Belvoir  kennels. 

An  up-to-date  Enghsh  foxhound  must  possess  the 
following  quahfications  to  be  good  enough  to  satisfy  the 
breeder. 

First,  as  judged  on  the  flags  when  he  arrives  at  the  kennels 
from  liis  "walk,"  he  must  not  be  too  tall  nor  too  short.  The 
standard  of  Belvoir  is  23  inches  for  dog  hounds  and  22  for 
females.  Then  comes  a  long  hst  of  defects  in  general  confor- 
mation, as  to  feet  and  legs,  back  and  loin,  neck  and  throat. 
Passing  muster  in  these,  he  must  prove  in  the  field  to  be  neither 
too  fast  nor  too  slow;  too  free  of  giving  tongue,  nor  too  mute; 
neither  a  skirter  nor  a  line  hunter.  His  voice  must  be  neither 
too  high  nor  too  low,  but  harmonise  with  the  pack.  He  must 
not  tell  a  lie  nor  run  riot.  He  must  have  great  stajang  quali- 
ties, for  it  has  been  the  custom  since  the  days  of  the  first  Duke, 
"when  the  Belvoir  goes  out  for  a  day's  hunting,  to  keep  on 
drawing  coverts,"  says  Bradley,  "until  dark,  no  matter  how 
far  hounds  are  from  the  kennels."  A  hound  with  a  weakness  is 
sure  to  be  winded  out.  Therefore  the  stamina  and  endurance 
of  the  Belvoir  hound  are  easily  accounted  for  (the  Belvoir  hunt 
five  days  a  week) .  He  must  possess  fling  and  drive  in  covert. 
He  must  be  a  hunting  dog,  relying  on  his  o^vn  endeavours  to 
follow  the  fine  of  the  hunted  fox,  as  if  hunting  alone.  His 
speed  must  be  as  great  as  his  endurance.  His  nose  and  drive 
must  be  so  wefl-balanced  that  he  will  race  to  the  line  with  a  good 
head,  and  not  tie  himself  to  it  with  painstaking  plodding.    If 


A  Daij  With  the  Belvoir  Foxhounds  14.5 

he  qualifies  in  all  these  particulars,  then  he  must  satisfy  the  ken- 
nel huntsman  as  to  his  character,  that  is  to  say,  he  must  be — 

Neither  quarrelsome  nor  timid. 
Neither  slovenlij  nor  too  fastidious, 
Neither  a  glutton  nor  a  poor  feeder. 
Neither  sulk//  nor  quick-tempered. 
Neither  too  meek  nor  disobedient. 


These  are  the  qualifications  of  an  up-to-date  English  fox- 
hound. Whoever  has  attempted  to  breed  or  school  a  couple  of 
bird  dogs,  even  from  the  same  litter,  and  has  succeeded  in  get- 
ting them  to  work  properly  together,  can  imagine  what  it 
means,  perhaps,  to  produce  a  pack  (160  hounds)  that  are  as 
like  as  so  many  peas  in  a  ])od,  and  that  hunt  together,  and  are 
governed  as  one  hound.  Such  in  short  is  the  status  of  the  Bel- 
voir hounds. 

Good  as  they  are  for  their  own  particular  neighbourhood 
and  country,  these  most  perfect  hounds  could  not  be  recom- 
mended for  the  class  of  fox  hunting  they  would  meet  with  in 
America.  In  their  own  country  the  Belvoir  hounds,  as  a  rule, 
start,  run  into  and  kill  a  fox  for  every  day's  hunting  in  the 
season.  The  different  climatic  conditions  existing  in  America, 
the  difference  also  in  the  foxes  and  coverts,  as  explained  in  a 
previous  chapter,  account  for  their  failure  in  America. 

Capell  is  putting  on  his  kennel  coat,  for  he  is  impatient  to 
take  us  to  see  this  year's  entry  as  well  as  a  few  old  favourite 
dogs  of  his  own  breeding,  that  are  doing  so  much  in  maintain- 
ing and  elevating  the  Belvoir  standard. 

Belvoir  Dexter,  now  in  his  tenth  season,  and  therefore  bred 
by  Gillard  and  entered  in  his  last  season,  comes  crowding  his 
way  through  a  cluster  of  his  sons  and  grandsons  standing  at 
the  kennel  door.  Not  every  good  hound  has  the  ability  to  trans- 
mit his  good  qualities.     Tliis  is  not  the  case  with  Belvoir  Dex- 


146       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hoxind 

ter,  a  great-grandson  of  Gambler,  a  celebrated  hound,  whom 
Gillard  considered  the  most  perfect  hound  that  he  had  ever 
bred.  Dexter's  sons  are  numerous  and  his  daughters  are  excel- 
lent in  every  way  in  the  field  and  on  the  flags. 

"Gambler  came  so  near  the  ideal,  in  every  respect,"  says 
Cuthbert  Bradley,  "that  his  skeleton  has  been  set  up  as  a  model 
of  symmetry  and  proportion,  to  illustrate  a  perfect  hound." 
Besides  the  painting  and  drawings  of  this  wonderful  hound, 
the  good  he  did  will  keep  his  memory  green  for  a  hundred 
years  to  come.  The  illustration  herewith  of  Belvoir  Dexter  is 
from  a  painting  by  Mr.  Cuthbert  Bradley,  which  that  artist 
did  for  "Land  and  Water,"  by  whose  kind  permission  it  is  here 
reproduced. 

"Next  to  an  old  Greek  statue,"  adds  Bradley,  quoting 
from  Canon  Kingsley's  description  of  a  modern  foxhound, 
"there  are  few  such  combinations  of  strength  as  in  a  fine  fox- 
hound. Majesty  is  the  only  word.  It  is  a  joy  to  see  such 
perfection  ahve." 

Let  us  return  to  Belvoir  Dexter,  who  has  probably  pro- 
duced more  high  class  sons  and  daughters  and  granddaughters 
than  any  hound  that  ever  lived.  It  has  been  the  policy  of  the 
Belvoir  hunt  for  the  last  hundred  years  seldom  to  go  outside 
of  their  own  kennels  for  new  blood.  Tliis  accounts  for  the 
strong  family  likeness  in  the  Belvoir  hounds,  and  their  uni- 
formity as  to  colour  and  markings.  The  Belvoir  tan  is  recog- 
nised throughout  Great  Britain,  and  few  kennels  are  without 
it.  A  perfect  system  of  books,  with  extended  tabulated  pedi- 
gree of  every  hound  in  the  pack  since  1859,  is  kept  by  Mr.  W. 
Bainbridge,  private  secretary  and  agent  to  Sir  Gilbert 
Greenall, 

The  writer  does  not  pretend  to  be  an  expert  judge  of 
hounds,  or  attempt  to  say  where  the  English  breeders  are 
wrong.  His  own  favourite  hound  at  Belvoir  is  Vagabond, 
1899. 


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BELVOIR  CASTLE 


A  Day  With  the  Bclvoir  Foxhounds  147 

It  seems  to  the  writer  that  there  is  danger  in  the  present 
rage  for  carrying  in-turning  toes,  short  lower  joints  and  heavy 
upright  legs,  too  far,  both  for  utility  and  looks.  On  the  other 
liand  American  hound  breeding,  as  generally  carried  on  in  the 
States,  is  so  far  behind  the  English  standard  that  it  seems 
almost  hopeless  to  discuss  it.  Still  there  is  a  leaven  working 
there  that  may  in  time  accomplish  nmch. 


"But  Councilman  opens.  Hark!  Councilman,  Hark! 
And  Finder  and  Fisherman  join  him.  Hark!  Hark! 
And  then  with  a  chorus  that  brings  you  delight 
Ten  couple  chime  in  and  put  everything  right." 

Poems  in  Pink. 

XIII 

TWO  DAYS  WITH  THE  QUORN  (FIRST  DAY) 

THE  FAMOUS  GRASS  COUNTRIES — HUNTING  CENTRES — RAILWAY 
TRAVEL — THE  BAY  MARE  INN — HIRING  A  HUNTER — A 
BLANK   DAY. 

T  EICESTER  is  one  of  the  most  popular  resorts  for  hunt- 
■■-^  ing  men  in  England.  Several  of  the  most  fashionable 
packs  of  hounds  in  England  are  within  a  radius  of  fifteen  or 
twenty  miles  of  Leicester.  A  sportsman  locating  there  can 
easily  hunt  six  days  in  the  week  without  going  a  great  distance 
to  the  meets.  The  favourite  resorts  for  gentlemen  who  come 
to  Leicester  during  the  hunting  season  are  not  the  modern 
hotels  but  the  old  fashioned  inns  like  the  "Black  Bull,"  "The 
King's  Head,"  "The  Bay  Mare  Inn,"  etc.  These  inns  have 
commodious  stables  and  boxes  for  hunters  and  are  invariably 
managed  by  the  "Missis,"  whose  husband  acts  as  a  handy  man 
about  the  place. 

There  is  an  air  of  comfort  about  these  well-worn  places  that 
fits  one  better  than  the  more  modern  hotels,  which  are,  as  we 
have  already  said,  usually  most  formal  and  uninviting.  A  day 
or  a  week  in  one  of  these  old  inns  is  one  of  the  charms  of  Merry 
England. 


Tico  Dans   With   I  he  Qiioni    { First  Daji)  149 

I  arrived  in  Leicester  one  rainy  evening.  The  old  town 
looked  forlorn  enough.  1  said  "evening";  it  was  only  about 
half-past  three,  but  the  street  lamps  were  already  lighted. 
Everyone  looked  pinched  and  cold  and  cross  and  out  of 
sorts,  and  no  wonder.  It  is  bad  enough  for  a  sportsman,  who 
gives  liimself  up  to  hunting  five  or  six  days  a  week,  to  "hang 
about"  for  a  day  or  tw^o,  with  a  string  of  five  to  fifteen  hunters 
kicking  their  boxes  to  pieces.  But  this  sort  of  thing  had  been 
going  on  during  two  weeks  of  frost  that  had  prevented  hounds 
going  out,  and  to  cap  tiie  climax  of  the  sportsman's  misery,  a 
two  days'  rain  had  ke])t  the  riders  and  most  of  the  horses  in- 
doors. 

If  there  is  any  one  thing  worse  than  an  English  fog,  with 
the  thermometer  at  about  freezing,  to  unfit  a  ])erson  for  becom- 
ing an  angel,  it  is  to  ride  a  few  hours  in  an  English  railway  car- 
riage on  a  cold,  rainy  winter's  day,  such  as  I  experienced  get- 
ting from  London  to  Leicester  on  this  occasion.  The  "X-Ray" 
has  a  wonderful  ])enetrating  ])ower,  but  the  London  fog  stops 
not  at  bones,  it  goes  straight  to  the  marrow. 

The  railway  carriages  are  relics  of  a  prehistoric  age.  They 
are  sometimes  provided  with  a  pan  of  hot  water  for  a  foot 
warmer  just  large  enough  to  accommodate  two  ordinary  sized 
pairs  of  feet.  If  there  is  a  woman  in  the  compartment,  the 
hot  water  pan  goes  to  her,  and  when  she  gets  her  feet  on  it 
and  her  dress  covers  her  feet,  the  other  nine  jiassengers  can  keep 
their  feet  warm  by  stamping  them,  or  thinking  about  a  hot 
mustard  bath. 

A  railway  compartment,  which  runs  crosswise  of  the  car 
and  has  a  door  in  each  end.  holds  ten  passengers,  five  facing 
forward  and  five  backward.  When  seated  in  the  compartment 
there  is  only  about  a  foot  to  S])are  (no  pun  is  intended)  between 
the  knees  of  the  two  rows  of  jjassengers.  (A  car.  or  carriage, 
has  three  or  four  of  these  compartments.)  The  train  stops 
at  a  station ;  a  passenger  at  one  end  of  the  compartment  mshes 


150       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

to  get  off  and  the  platform  happens  to  be  next  to  the  door  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  car.  He  gets  up,  collects  his  numerous 
bundles  and  grips  (most  traveUing  in  England  is  done  with 
hand  luggage),  and  with  liis  hands  and  arms  full  he  starts  for 
the  door.  Everyone  turns  his  or  her  feet  sideways  to  enable 
him  to  pass;  he  bumps  everyone's  knees,  knocks  their  shins 
and  can  hardly  manage  without  losing  his  balance,  and  comes 
dangerously  near  falling  into  the  lap  of  a  passenger  first  on 
one  side  and  then  on  the  other.  The  passengers  now  come  to 
the  rescue  and  take  liis  baggage  while  he  goes  edging  and 
squeezing  his  way  along  to  the  discomfort  of  everyone  in  the 
compartment.  Finally  he  reaches  the  door,  and  in  order  to 
get  out  someone  must  relieve  liim  of  the  rest  of  his  baggage,  for 
to  unfasten  the  door  he  must  let  down  the  window,  stick  his 
head  and  half  of  his  bodj^  out  of  the  car,  reach  doAvn  on  the 
outside  and  unfasten  the  door.  Then  he  steps  out,  and  the 
passengers,  who  have  been  holding  liis  luggage  meanwhile, 
pass  it  along  to  him  or  to  a  porter,  and  away  goes  the  passenger 
leaving  the  car-door  and  window  wide  open.  Now  someone 
must  get  up  and  close  this  door  and  raise  the  window  by  aid 
of  a  dangling  strap,  or  leave  it  open  until  the  train  starts.  I 
have  never  seen  a  passenger  leaving  a  car  in  England  close  the 
door  behind  liim. 

Just  before  the  train  starts  the  door  opens  and  a  big  red- 
faced  Englishman  looks  in.  Only  one  seat  vacant.  He  leaves 
the  door  open  and  looks  into  other  compartments  to  find  one 
with  more  room.  Finally  he  comes  back  and  walks  in,  puffing 
and  blowing,  wades  between  two  rows  of  knees  and  sits  down  in 
the  seat  vacated  by  the  passenger  that  got  ofi'.  He  had  a  drink 
of  Scotch  before  he  started  from  home,  walked  to  the  station, 
had  another  Scotch  with  a  friend  while  waiting  for  the  train.  Of 
course  he  left  the  door  open  when  he  came  in  and  the  passen- 
gers take  his  luggage  until  he  can  get  into  his  place  and  relieve 
them  of  it.     Now  he  sits  down.     The  guard  slams  the  door 


PUPPIES 


THE   tJUORN   PACK 


Two  Daijs  With  the  Quorn  {First  Day)  151 

like  the  discharf^e  of  a  shot  gun.  The  train  starts.  The  new 
man  feels  heated  and  lets  down  the  window.  The  other  nine 
passengers,  eliilled  to  the  marrow,  sit  in  the  draught  while  the 
man  cools  liis  Scotch. 

Walking  to  the  station,  his  boots  collected  a  load  of  mud, 
but  by  the  time  he  reached  liis  corner  he  had  them  fairly  well 
cleaned.  He  left  the  mud  on  the  gentlemen's  trousers  and  the 
ladies'  dresses  as  he  passed  to  his  seat.  This  is  railway  travel 
in  England.  This  may  seem  to  many  of  my  readers  an  exag- 
geration.   I  assure  them  that  it  is  not. 

This  is  my  apology  for  feeling  cross  at  the  end  of  the 
journey  that  landed  me  in  Leicester.  The  trouble  is  that  when 
you  get  chilled  tlirough,  there  is  not  a  stove  or  furnace  in  all 
England  (that  I  ever  saw)  where  you  can  get  warm.  Grin 
and  bear  it,  or  rather  "take  Scotch-and-put-up-with-it,"  is  the 
only  resource. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  Bay  Mare  Inn  the  landlady  called 
a  chambermaid  to  show  me  my  room  (chambermaids  in 
England  do  the  duties  of  the  bell  boys  as  well)  and  the 
"boots"  to  take  up  my  luggage.  The  chambermaid  wears 
a  wliite  cap  and  the  "boots"  an  apron  of  green  baize  cloth  as 
a  badge  of  their  respective  duties.  There  are  no  bootblacks 
in  England  as  in  the  States.  You  put  your  shoes  in  the  hall 
at  night  and  the  "boots"  cleans  them. 

My  room  is  as  damp  and  chilly  as  a  sepulchre.  The  fog 
has  penetrated  my  clothing  until  I  feel  like  a  corpse.  I  am 
half  desjjerate,  at  least  reckless. 

"Well!"  I  said  to  the  chambermaid  who  stood  in  the  door- 
way wringing  and  chafing  her  hands  with  the  cold,  her  nose  as 
red  as  her  hands,  her  features  pinched,  "What's  the  matter?" 

"Please,  sir." 

"What's  the  matter?  Why  do  you  stand  there  wringing 
your  hands?" 

"Oh,  I's  awful  cold,  sir." 


152       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"Cold!  Why,  that's  nothing.  I  haven't  been  warm  for  two 
weeks.  Think  of  ginger.  You  should  not  let  a  little  thing  Uke 
the  cold  trouble  you.     Bring  me  a  pitcher  of  ice  water." 

"Ice  water,  sir?    You  mean  hot  water,  don't  you,  sir?" 

"Well,  bring  something  and  be  smart  about  it." 

Dear  me,  the  room  was  so  cold  and  damp  it  nearly  put  the 
candle  out. 

"Anything  else,  sir?"  said  the  chambermaid  standing  in  the 
doorway  and  still  rubbing  her  hands.  "Would  you  like  a  hot 
water  bottle  to  put  in  your  bed,  sir?" 

"Yes,  in  the  name  of  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of 
Cruelty  to  Animals,  yes,  put  in  a  dozen." 

"A  dozen,  sir?" 

"Yes,  or  you  will  never  hear  a  copper  jingle  in  my  pocket." 

"I  don't  tliink  there  are  a  dozen  bottles  in  the  house,  sir." 

Tliis  conversation  goes  on  while  I  wash  my  face  and  hands. 

"Well,  then  put  in  eleven." 

No  doubt  the  poor  girl  thinks  I  am  crazy.  She  shakes  her 
head  and  goes  on  chafing  her  hands. 

"How  many  can  you  supply?" 

"There  are  only  two  in  the  house,  sir.  Would  you  hke  a 
fire  in  the  grate,  sir?" 

I  had  already  had  experience  with  grate  fires  in  other  hotels. 
They  burn  only  soft  coal.  They  open  the  flue  while  they  build 
the  fire:  it  burns  for  about  an  hour,  then  all  the  rest  of  the 
night  the  fog  and  damp  comes  doAvn  the  cliimney,  until  the 
walls  of  your  room  are  wet.  The  grate  in  this  room  would  hold 
about  as  much  coal  as  a  No.  7,  possibly  a  No.  7  1-8,  derby  hat. 

"No,  thank  you.  I  prefer  the  cool  invigorating  air  of  the 
room,  but  if  you  don't  get  that  bed  warmed  by  9  o'clock,  you 
will  surely  turn  grey." 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can,  sir." 

As  I  go  down  stairs.  Madam,  who  has  had  an  ear  to  my 
coming,  meets  me  with  a  motherly  smile.     "What  would  you 


Two  Dai/s  With  the  Qiiorn   {First  Day)  153 

like,  sir?  A  cup  of  tea  in  the  smoking  room,  or  would  you 
prefer  something  to  eat?  Diinier  will  not  be  served  until  half- 
past  six." 

"I'll  take  a  cup  of  tea,  please." 

"Thank  you.  Will  you  have  it  served  in  the  smoking  room 
or  in  the  dining  room?" 

"Oh,  the  smoking  room." 

"Smoking  room,  right,  sir,"  and  with  a  matronly  air  she 
says:  "You  know  the  way,  don't  j^ou,  sir?  This  way.  Your 
tea  will  be  there  in  a  minute." 

In  the  barroom  were  some  half  dozen  grooms  and  stable- 
men sipping  their  bitter  and  talking  horse,  wliile  one  of  the 
number  was  leaning  on  the  bar  laughing  with  the  barmaid 
and  trying  to  say  something  to  make  her  blush.  "I  wouldn't 
go  to  master  wth  a  feed  bill,"  one  groom  was  saying  to 
another,  "until  the  frost  lifts,  for— for— well,  I'd  sooner  lose 
three  weeks'  wages,  so  I  would."  And  he  brought  his  fist 
down  on  the  table  with  a  bang  to  prove  that  he  meant  it. 

A  dozen  or  fifteen  gentlemen  were  seated  about  the  smok- 
ing room.  All  were  looking  serious  and  very  matter  of  fact, 
each  making  the  others  more  miserable,  no  doubt,  by  talking 
about  the  weather  and  the  capital  D  frost.  It  was  a  sort  of 
an  "inferno"  place:  it  must  have  been,  for  it  was  warmer  than 
could  be  accounted  for  by  the  little  grate  fire.  As  I  entered 
the  room,  most  of  the  gentlemen  looked  uj)  from  their  books 
and  papers  and  glasses,  and  as  I  walked  to  the  fireplace,  I 
said  to  a  group  of  gentlemen  who  made  way  for  me,  "Good 
evening,  gentlemen."  No  one  answered :  and  then,  not  realis- 
ing the  state  of  their  minds  about  the  weather.  I  said.  "A  cold, 
disagreeable  day,  gentlemen."  No  reply  and  I  felt  more  cliilly 
than  ever. 

This  was  my  first  visit  to  England  and  I  did  not  know 
Englislmien  then  or  how  to  get  at  them.  When  an  American 
first  goes  to  England  he  compares  them  to  a  turtle  that  lives 


154       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

entirely  witliin  its  shell,  except  its  head,  and  it  draws  that  in  if 
a  stranger  looks  at  it.  You  can  generally  ride  hundreds  of 
miles  alone  with  an  Englishman  in  a  compartment  and  he  will 
never  speak  to  you.  If  you  have  a  letter  of  introduction  or  they 
know  who  you  are  and  where  you  come  from,  it  is  all  right.  I 
once  found  myself  in  Kent,  and  thinking  that  I  would  hke  to 

visit  Sir  Thomas  G 's  hackneys,  I  hired  a  livery  and  drove 

four  miles  to  liis  place.  I  rang  the  bell  and  told  the  servant 
what  I  wanted.  I  was  directed  to  go  to  the  bailiff  (farm  man- 
ager).   I  said,  "I  came  to  see  Sir  G 's  horses." 

"Did  you  have  an  apiJointment  ?"  asked  the  bailiff. 

"No,"  I  said:  "I  was  in  the  neighbourhood  and  am  inter- 
ested in  hackneys,  etc.    Can  I  see  them?" 

"Well,  yes,  but  you  had  better  have  an  appointment." 

"To  whom  shall  I  apply?" 

"Oh,  simply  write  to  Sir  Thomas  and  you  will  soon  receive 
a  reply." 

I  could  scarcely  see  the  necessity  of  tliis,  as  I  knew  Sir 
Thomas  was  at  home.  I  returned  to  London  wthout  accom- 
phshing  my  purpose.  A  friend  to  whom  I  told  my  experience 
said,  "Yes,  in  this  country  they  never  like  to  have  anyone  come 
in  on  them  without  notice.  You  write  Sir  Thomas  a  letter 
telling  him  who  you  are,  where  you  came  from  and  what  you 
want  to  see."  At  first  I  said  "I  came  to  tliis  country  to  buy 
some  hackneys,  and  Sir  Thomas  can  go  where  the  woodbine 
twineth."  Finally,  to  please  my  English  friend  and  to  see  how 
it  would  turn  out  I  wrote  to  Sir  Thomas,  and  by  return  post 
received  a  letter  from  his  secretary  saying  that  Sir  Thomas 
would  be  pleased  to  see  me  at  the  Hall  any  day  that  suited  my 
convenience.  If  I  Avould  let  him  know  the  day  and  train,  he 
would  send  to  the  station  for  me.  I  went  and  was  met  at  the 
train  by  a  coachman  in  Hvery.  Sir  Thomas  showed  me  all 
about  the  stables  and  took  me  through  the  wonderful  old  manor 
house,  gave  me  a  nice  lunch  and  returned  me  to  the  train. 


Two  Days  With  the  Quorn  {First  Day)  155 

That's  English.  It's  very  nice  when  you  know  how  to  go 
about  it. 

The  reception  in  the  smoking  room  of  the  Bay  Mare  Inn 
was  quite  as  chilly  as  anything  1  had  previously  experienced, 
and  I  made  up  my  mind  never  again  to  attempt  to  be  civil  or 
to  speak  to  an  Englishman  unless  I  was  sjjoken  to. 

The  landlady  followed  the  maid  in  with  my  pot  of  tea.  She 
poured  it  for  me  herself. 

"Is  that  to  your  Hking,  sir?" 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

^VU  the  time  she  was  waiting  on  me  she  was  talking  to  this 
and  that  gentleman:  for  one  she  had  mended  a  pair  of  gloves, 
for  another  she  had  washed  out  some  hunting  scarves.  She 
seemed  to  be  the  mother  of  the  whole  lot  of  them;  a  nice  family,- 
only  I  thought  that  she  might  have  taught  them  to  be  a  little 
more  civil  to  strangers.  I  drank  my  tea  in  silence  and  retired 
into  a  shell  of  my  own,  which  by  the  time  we  went  out  to  dinner 
I  could  feel  growing  to  ciuitc  a  thickness.  It  was  a  most 
satisfying  dinner:  great  shces  of  roast  beef  to  satisfy  the  wants 
of  a  wood  chopper,  cold  meats,  a  stuffed  hog's  head,  etc.  I  ate 
my  dinner  in  silence:  but,  dear  me,  by  the  time  coffee  was 
served  in  the  smoking  room  I  thawed  out  in  spite  of  myself, 
and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  was  on  speaking  terms  with  one 
of  the  most  agreeable  gentlemen  it  has  ever  been  my  good  for- 
tune to  meet.  Col.  Richardson,  to  whom  I  was  afterwards  in- 
debted for  one  of  the  grandest  day's  sport  I  ever  enjoyed  with 
hounds,  an  account  of  which  I  will  attemjjt  to  give  in  my  second 
day's  experience  with  the  Quorn.  We  talked  horse,  hunting 
and  hounds,  forwards,  sideways  and  backwards  until  we  were 
the  only  persons  in  the  smoking  room.  The  Colonel  had  rid- 
den to  hounds  in  America  and  knew  several  gentlemen  of  my 
acquaintance. 

"But,"  said  the  Colonel,  "I  do  not  fancy  those  Long  Island 
fences.     I  own  to  flunking  timber." 


156       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

The  Colonel  advised  me  where  to  go  to  secure  a  mount. 
The  stable  I  applied  to  early  the  next  morning  was  that  of  a 
"Jobmaster."  Yes,  he  could  mount  me  that  day  for  the  Quorn, 
as  it  was  a  bye  day:  three  guineas  (over  15  dollars)  ;  and  at  ten 
o'clock  I  went  to  get  my  mount,  which,  by  the  charge,  I  ex- 
pected would  be  something  first-class.  Imagine  my  surprise 
when  the  groom  led  out  an  old  stiffened  hunter  that  looked 
hardly  up  to  my  weight. 

"Where  is  the  owner?"  I  inquired.  "Gone  to  the  meet,  sir. 
Master  said  I  was  to  show^  you  the  way,  sir."  "But,"  I  said, 
"that  poor  old  cripple  is  not  fit  to  carry  me."  "Be 
all  right,  sir,  soon  as  'e's  limbered  hup  a  bit."  I  had  my  doubts. 
He  had  been  fired  and  blistered  and  nerved.  However,  I 
hacked  that  old  hunter  seven  long  miles  to  the  meet.  I  made  up 
my  mind  that  I  would  ride  out  to  see  the  start  and  ride  back: 
to  Leicester. 

At  the  meet  I  saw  the  dealer  and  complained  about  my 
mount.  The  two  grooms  who  accompanied  me  were  beauti- 
fully mounted  and  so  was  the  owner.  I  could  not  understand  it. 
"Go  all  right,"  said  the  jobmaster,  "directly  the  hounds  throw 
off."  I  was  invited  into  the  house  for  a  taste  and  was  here 
introduced  to  the  INIaster,  the  Earl  of  Lonsdale.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  great  dining  hall  was  full  of  dukes  and  lords.  Lord 
Lonsdale  impressed  me  as  a  most  affable  gentleman,  easily 
approached.  I  noticed  that  he  spoke  to  farmers  and  lords  in 
the  same  gentlemanly  manner. 

As  we  rode  along  to  covert  I  saw  a  fine  looking  gentleman. 
Lord  So  and  So,  in  a  pink  hunting  coat  and  brass  buttons,  white 
silk  breeches,  liigh  silk  hat  and  top  boots,  begging  a  light  of 
some  country  chap  on  a  long-tailed,  long-haired  farm  horse.  In 
the  hunting  field  in  England  everyone  seems  to  meet  on  a  level. 
An  English  gentleman  holds  liis  standing  so  securely  that  he 
can  speak  with  any  one  of  his  acquaintance  without  ever  feeling 
that    he   has    lowered   himself   in    doing   so.      Altogether   an 


THE   EARL   OF  LONSDALE,    M.    F.    H. 


Tico  Dai/s  With   the  Quorn    {First  Da//)  157 

English  gentleman  is  the  most  gentlemanly  gentleman  in  the 
world  (except  to  strangers). 

We  jog  on  to  covert.  There  is  not  a  breath  of  air  stirring. 
Therefore,  in  getting  into  position  for  the  start,  one  side  of  the 
covert  seemed  as  favourable  as  the  other.  Hounds  were  cast 
in  on  the  northAvest  corner  of  an  oblong  piece  of  wood — about 
four  acres.  Some  of  the  riders  went  along  the  north  side  and 
some  turned  down  the  west  end.  I  chose  the  latter,  as  foxes 
usually  lie  in  a  covert  where  the  sun  can  strike  them.  jNIy  idea 
was  that  if  there  was  a  fox  in  the  covert,  he  would  probably 
be  found  on  the  sunny  side  and  break  south.  Unfortunately, 
this  well-laid  plan  worked  to  my  disadvantage.  Hounds  went 
straight  along  the  north  fence  and  ran  out  at  the  northeast 
corner  of  the  covert,  so  that  by  the  time  my  old  wreck  arrived 
on  the  south  side  of  the  covert  the  liounds  were  fully  a  mile 
away.  I  had  plenty  of  company,  for  fully  half  the  hunt — fifty 
or  sixty — came  my  way. 

To  make  matters  worse,  we  had  to  ride  slowly  through  a  bog 
and  the  hounds  went  away  with  such  a  burning  scent  that  they 
never  gave  tongue  to  the  line,  at  least  no  one  on  our  side  heard 
a  whimper.  When  the  riders  on  my  side  took  in  the  situation 
they  raced  away  at  such  a  fearful  pace  that  my  poor  old  scow 
was  fairly  left  standing.  He  was  a  clever  old  chap  at  fences 
and  ditches,  but  it  was  no  use.  I  pulled  him  u])  in  the  third 
field  and  returned  to  Leicester.  I  left  him'  with  the  stable  man 
with  ten  sliillings  and  my  card  and  address  instead  of  the  three 
guineas.  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  three  guineas  was  the 
price  of  the  horse.  The  groom  said  that  I  was  mistaken.  How- 
ever, three  guineas  was  more  than  I  would  have  cared  to  pay 
for  him,  and  we  let  the  matter  drop.  That  evening  I  was 
telling  the  Colonel  my  experience.  "Oh,  what  a  shame!"  he 
cried.  "I'll  never  send  another  person  to  his  stables.  Did  you 
tell  him  I  sent  you?"  "No,"  I  replied.  (That,  probably,  was 
my  mistake,  not  properly  introduced,  you  see.)     "I  don't  un- 


158       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

derstand  it,"  continued  the  Colonel,  much  more  worked  up 
about  it  than  I  was.  "I  saw  the  owner  and  two  of  his  grooms 
out  on  good  ones,"  I  remarked.  "He  must  have  had  a  customer 
for  two  or  three  and  was  having  them  ridden  to  sell.  I  wish 
I  had  gone  down  to  the  stable  with  you.  I'll  tell  you  what," 
added  the  Colonel,  "you  stay  over  to-morrow  and  I  will  give 
you  a  mount."  I  remonstrated.  "I've  twelve  hunters  in  the 
stables,  one  sort  and  another,"  replied  the  Colonel,  taking  no 
heed  to  my  remarks.  "Tliey  are  all  kicking  their  boxes  to 
jjieces  for  want  of  work,  and  if  you  will  stay  you  can  have  a 
mount  and  welcome."  I  said  that  it  was  too  much.  But  the 
Colonel  insisted.  "I  don't  want  you  to  go  back  to  New  York 
until  you  have  had  a  day  with  the  Quorn.  I  should  really 
feel  badly  to  think  of  it.  What  do  you  ride  at?"  he  asked. 
"I  weigh  186  pounds."  "Let  me  see,  fourteen  pounds  to 
the  stone,  that  means  a  good  horse."     "Yes,"  I  said,  "and  I 

really "    "That's  all  right,"  broke  in  the  Colonel.    "I  ride 

nearly  that  weight  myself,  I  was  tliinking  what  horse  to  give 
you."  He  closed  his  eyes  and  went  over  the  hst  on  his  fingers 
until  he  came  to,  "All!  yes,  that's  it,  Richard — Richard  the 
Bay:  he  is  an  Irish  horse  and  as  good  as  they  make  them.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  sit  still,  give  him  his  head  at  the  jumps  and 
he  will  pull  you  through  any  country  where  a  horse  can  go." 
I  stayed,  and  the  day  I  had  on  "Richard  the  Bay"  I  shall 
remember  as  long  as  I  live. 


"I'd  a  lead  of  them  all  rvhen  xice  came  to  the  brook, 
A  big  one.  a  bumper  and  up  to  your  chin. 
As  he  threw  it  behind  him  I  turned  for  a  look, 
There  were  eight  of  us  at  it  and  seven  got  in. 
Then  he  shook  his  lean  head  ichile  he  heard  them  go  flop, 
This  Clipper  that  stands  in  the  stall  at  the  top." 

Old  Hunting  Song. 

XIV 

TWO  DAYS  WITH  THE  QUORN  (SECOND  DAY) 

RICHARD    THE    BAY — THE    MEET — THE    CHASE — THE    BROOK — 
COLONEL   RICHARDSON. 

WELL,  groom,"  said  I,  on  entering  the  stable  early  the 
next  morning,  "How  is  Richard  the  Bay?  He  must 
be  very  fit  after  a  rest  of  two  weeks." 

"  'E's  as  fit  as  can  be,  sir,"  answered  the  groom,  with  a  dab 
at  his  cap.  "Are  you  the  gentleman  as  master  said  is  going  to 
ride  him  to-day,  sir?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "I  came  in  to  have  a  look  at  him." 

"Just  so,  sir,  just  so.  'E's  in  this  'ere  box,  sir.  Master 
thinks  a  lot  of  this  'ere  'orse.    'E  do  for  a  fact,  sir." 

Then  the  groom  went  on,  thinking  I  might  be  a  purchaser, 
with  the  usual  stable  lingo,  which  would  probably  have  been 
the  same  had  it  been  any  other  of  the  Colonel's  twelve  horses 
that  I  wanted  to  see. 

We  entered  the  box,  and  as  the  groom  stripped  off  the 
blankets,  Richard  let  both  heels  fly  at  them  as  much  as  to  say 
"good  riddance  to  you." 


160       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"Fit!  I  should  say  he  is!"  I  remarked.  "He  is  simply 
spoiling  for  a  run." 

"  'E's  allers  that  way,  sir,  when  'e's  been  in  for  a  few  days. 
I  daresay,  sir,  you  will  find  'im  a  bit  above  hisself  to-day,  sir, 
but  he  means  nothing  by  that,  sir.  A  quieter,  better-mannered 
'orse  never  looked  through  a  bridle,  sir." 

To  prove  his  words,  the  groom  stroked  Richard's  hind  legs 
and  pulled  him  about,  adding,  "There  is  not  a  bit  of  ^^ce  in- 
tended, sir.  You  can  tell  that  by  the  looks  on  him,  can't  you, 
sir?" 

I  liked  Richard  immensely.  I  liked  him  all  the  better  for 
kicking  off  liis  blankets.  I  once  owned  a  hunter  that  did  the 
very  same  trick,  when,  as  the  groom  expressed  it,  "  'E  was  feel- 
ing a  little  above  hisself." 

What  a  delightful  morning  it  was !  The  sun  shone  and  the 
wind  was  just  right  to  insure  a  good  scenting  day.  What  a 
change  had  come  over  the  spirits  of  every  one.  The  morning 
train  from  I^ondon  and  the  north  brought  back  two  score  or 
more  riders  who  had  gone  away  during  the  frost,  wliile  a  dozen 
horse  cars,  which  were  attached  to  the  express  trains,  brought 
in  tmce  as  many  hunters. 

Men  in  scarlet  were  seen  everywhere  about  the  Bay  ]Mare 
Inn. 

Our  landlady  had  her  hands  full  looking  after  all  the  little 
wants  of  her  guests. 

"Sportsmen  are  such  careless  fellows,"  she  informed  me,  and 
added,  in  a  confidential  tone,  "I  would  as  soon  fit  out  as  many 
girls  for  a  party." 

A  bell  rings  vigorously. 

"Yes,  sir,  in  just  a  moment.     That's  Lord ringing 

for  his  boots.  He  forgot  to  put  them  out  to  be  cleaned.  I  do 
hope,"  she  continued,  "you  will  have  a  good  run  and  come 
home  as  hungry  as  wolves." 

Here  she  broke  off  to  pull  on  a  glove  for  a  gentleman 


Trco  Days  With  the  Qnorn   {Second  Day)         161 

who  had  a  fall  yesterday  and  must  ride  with  one  hand  to-day. 

Outside  everything  was  in  commotion.  Hunters  in  charge 
of  grooms  and  stable  boj-s  were  always  in  sight  and  the  town 
people  were  collecting  to  see  us  off. 

Finally  the  time  comes  for  us  to  mount  for  a  three-mile 
ride  to  the  meet.  ]My  heart  was  in  a  bit  of  a  flutter,  as  the 
ladies  say,  when  I  heard  the  groom  leading  Richard  the  Bay 
from  his  stall.  I  could  tell  by  the  sound  of  his  stately  tread 
that  he  had  the  walk  and  carriage  of  a  gentleman.  The  groom 
opened  the  stable  door,  Richard  stopped,  cocked  his  head  to 
one  side  like  an  old  tar  survej'ing  the  weather;  his  great  nostrils 
dilated  and  his  sides  swelled  as  he  took  in  a  deep  breath  of  the 
sharp,  invigorating  air.  After  a  pause  the  groom  pulled  a  httle 
at  the  bridle. 

"Come  along,  hold  man,  this  is  j^our  day  for  'unting." 

But  Richard  stood  there  gazing  about  as  if  he  were  some 
bloated  landlord  about  to  bargain  for  the  place.  I  had  to  smile 
to  see  the  knowing  rascal  entirely  oblivious  of  the  groom  pulling 
(very  gently,  however)  at  his  bridle. 

"Don't  disturb  him,  groom,  he'll  come  when  he  has  finished 
his  observations." 

Finally  Richard  came  to  himself  and  began  pla^nng  with 
the  bits.  Again  his  nostrils  dilated.  The  groom  reached  up 
his  hand  to  steady  him  out.  Richard  pushed  away  liis  hands 
with  a  disgusted  expression,  as  if  to  saj%  "I'm  quite  able  to 
take  care  of  myself."  And  then,  spurning  all  assistance,  he 
stepped  out  into  the  wet  yard  like  a  lady  in  opera  gown  and 
shppers. 

The  groom  walked  him  around  the  yard  once  or  twice  for 
my  inspection.  Richard  was  a  big.  upstanding  Irishman; — a 
trifle  ragged  at  the  hips,  as  most  Irish  hunters  are.  His  quar- 
ters, however,  were  most  powerful,  the  muscles  running  well 
down  to  his  hocks.  He  carried  a  grand  middle  piece,  with 
shoulders  to  suit  the  most  exacting.    His  grandest  characteris- 


162       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

tic,  however,  was  his  great  brown  eyes,  soft  and  mild,  with  the 
greatest  width  between  them,  making  him  one  of  the  most  intel- 
hgent-looking  horses  I  had  ever  seen.  His  long  straight  neck 
was  beautifully  set  on  both  head  and  shoulders,  and  he  carried 
his  head  just  right  to  make  him  a  model  cross-country  horse, 
wliile  under  him  he  carried  four  clean  legs  of  unusual  strength 
and  substance,  with  very  large  knee  and  hock  joints.  Alto- 
gether, he  was  quite  an  ideal  pattern  of  a  weight-carrying 
hunter.  The  groom  stood  directly  in  front  of  Richard,  with  a 
hand  to  each  side  of  his  face,  holding  him  by  the  bits.  The 
stable  boy  was  standing  on  the  off  side,  the  stirrup  leather  in 
one  hand  and  the  iron  in  the  other.  I  thought  Richard  was 
about  15.3  hands,  but  when  I  came  up  near  enough  to  mount  I 
saw  that  he  was  closer  to  16.1. 

I  gathered  up  the  reins,  and  the  instant  my  foot  was  in  the 
stirrup  and  my  weight  off  the  ground  I  felt  Richard  gathering 
himself,  and  I  knew  what  was  coming.  Dropping  quickly  into 
the  saddle  I  nodded  to  the  groom. 

"Look  sharp,  sir,"  he  cried,  as  he  sprang  to  one  side.  At 
this  Richard  gave  one  exultant  bound  and  then  another,  and 
came  down  stiff  legged ;  then,  up  again  hke  a  rabbit,  frightened 
from  a  brush  pile.  Then,  with  his  heels  high  in  the  air  as  a  part- 
ing to  groom  and  stable,  he  shot  out  of  the  yard  on  to  the  green 
in  front  of  the  Bay  Mare  Inn. 

I  thought  best  to  let  Richard  have  a  bit  of  a  fling  just  to 
take  a  few  of  the  superfluous  kinks  out  of  his  legs  and  back. 
He  was  simply  too  happy  to  contain  himself,  and  when  he  saw 
the  other  hunters  gathering  in  front  of  the  hotel  his  bottled-up 
exuberance  had  to  find  vent  in  sundry  quirks  and  artful  ges- 
tures of  the  head.  He  pretended  to  shy  at  a  curbstone  from 
which  he  had  been  mounted  many  a  time ;  a  bit  of  paper  next 
came  to  his  attention,  and  I  thought  by  the  feeling  under  me 
that  Richard  must  have  swallowed  a  spring  bed.  I  hardly 
knew  what  to  do,  as  I  was  afraid  the  owner,  who  was  standing 


A   MEET  AT   KIRBY   GATE 


THE  FIELD  MOVING  OFF 


Ticu  Daijfi  With  lite  Quoni   {Second  Day)  KJli 

oil  the  hotel  steps,  might  think  I  Avas  uiiahle  to  manage 
llichard  or,  worse  yet,  that  I  was  trying  to  show  off.  On  the 
other  hand,  I  did  not  hke  to  take  lliehard  sharply  by  the  head 
and  saw  liim  down,  and  possibly  get  into  a  fight  with  him 
that  might  put  him  in  bad  humour  for  the  day.  I  have  seen 
many  a  spirited  mount  made  sulky  and  unhappy,  spoiling 
the  day's  sport  for  himself  and  his  rider,  because  the  latter  was 
too  harsh  and  rank  with  him  at  the  start.  Hunting  is  a  part- 
nership game  in  which  the  rider  should  do  his  utmost  to  be 
perfectly  agreeable  to  his  horse. 

Regardless,  therefore,  of  what  anyone  might  say  or  think, 
Richard  had  his  fling  and  we  settled  down  in  a  few  minutes 
with  a  perfect  understanding  and  on  the  best  of  terms  with  each 
other. 

At  least  two  hundred  mounts  rode  out  that  day  to  pay  their 
respects  to  one  little  fox.  Dukes  and  farmers,  lords  and  traders, 
squires  and  tenants,  the  lady  from  the  hall  and  the  country  girl 
from  the  cottage,  all  assembled,  united  in  one  common  bond 
stronger  than  freemasonry  and  as  lasting  as  the  church.  The 
]\Iaster,  the  Earl  of  Lonsdale,  bowing  graciously  alike  to  the 
farmer  and  the  peer,  rides  up  ^vith  twenty  odd  couples  of  most 
beautiful  hounds.  (This  pack,  or  at  least  this  hunt,  is  now  over 
two  hundred  years  old.)  Of  course,  the  hunt  servants,  like  his 
Lordship,  are  faultlessly  dressed.  Gentlemen,  who  have  driven 
to  the  meet,  now  remove  their  overcoats  and  the  white  aprons 
they  have  worn  over  their  whitened  riding  breeches  to  preserve 
them  spotless  to  the  hour  of  mounting,  while  the  whole  field  is 
moving  about  like  a  great  kaleidoscopic  picture.  The  sporting 
parson  in  his  priestly  garb  goes  wandering  about  among  his 
flock  like  the  one  black  sheep  of  the  fold.  I  had  heard  a  good 
deal  about  the  sporting  parsons  in  England,  but  this  was  the 
first  time  I  had  seen  one  hunting.  It  did  look  rather  strange, 
but  he  seemed  to  be  as  much  loved  and  as  highly  respected  by  all 
classes  as  the  great  Earl  of  Rosebery,  at  that  time  Prime  Min- 


164       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

ister  of  England,  with  whom  he  was  at  the  moment  exchanging 
a  pleasant  greeting.  The  parson  was  a  man  who  had  lived 
quite  half  a  century.  His  hair  was  mottled  grey ;  but  he  was  a 
hard  one  to  follow,  as  many  of  us  could  testify  before  the 
day  was  done. 

"Toot!  Toot!"  say  the  horns,  and,  headed  by  the  Master 
and  hounds,  the  great  cavalcade  moves  on  to  covert. 

Hounds  are  thrown  into  a  small  "spinny"  of  possibly  three 
acres,  while  one  of  the  whippers-in  has  been  sent  on  to  a  position 
where  he  can  view  the  fox  away  when  he  leaves  the  covert. 
The  riders  look  well  to  their  saddle  girths ;  cigars  and  cigarettes 
are  thrown  away,  hats  are  set  a  degree  tighter,  reins  are 
adjusted,  and  wth  another  look  at  throat  latch  and  curb  chain 
we  are  ready  for  the  chase.  We  hear  the  huntsman  encourag- 
ing the  hounds  to  draw. 

"Edawick!  Edawick!  Edawick!" 

We  move  to  the  left  of  the  covert,  as  there  is  a  large  open 
field  to  the  right,  and  the  fox  is  not  likely  to  go  away  in  full 
view.  No  one  knows  better  than  the  writer  what  it  means  to 
get  a  bad  start.  Some  ambitious  riders  crowd  on.  We  hear 
the  whimpering  of  a  hound  in  covert.  Even  the  languid  Lon- 
don chappie  pulls  down  liis  hat  and  rides  up  to  the  front  with 
a  rush. 

"Hold  hard,  gentlemen,"  shouts  the  Master.  "Pray  give 
the  fox  a  chance." 

Some  rider  on  a  black  horse  moves  up  a  few  steps. 

"Hold  hard  there,  black  horse!  Look!  gentlemen,  look 
where  you  are  going,  unless  you  want  to  head  the  fox  back 
to  covert !" 

Just  then  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  covert,  we  hear 
the  welcome  shout  of  the  whipper-in : 

"Tally-o-away!  Tally-o-away!  Away!  Away!  Gone 
away!" 

Again  the  Master  calls  out: 


Ttc'o  Dans  With  the  Quorti    {Second  Dai/)  1G5 

"Now,  please,  gentlemen,  hold  hard.  Give  the  hounds  a 
chance.    They  are  not  running  yet." 

Our  mounts  are  now  as  restless  as  so  many  race-horses  at 
the  starting  post.  They  throw  their  heads,  bite  at  their  bits, 
paw  the  ground,  break  away  and  let  tlicir  heels  fly  from  sheer 
impatience  to  be  off'. 

"Steady  there,  Richard;  easy,  easy,  old  man.  It's  coming 
soon.     Easy  now." 

"But  look,  master,  I  can't  stand  this  much  longer,"  said 
Richard. 

"Nor  I  either,  old  boy,  but  I  must  hold  hard,  you  know." 

Have  the  hounds  gone  to  sleep,  I  wonder?  Oh,  those 
trying  minutes  between  a  "Tally-o-away!  Gone  awa}%"  and 
the  find.  There  comes  a  whimper  as  some  hound  half  owns  to 
the  line. 

"Hark  to  Mistress!  Hark  to  Mistress!"  shouts  the  hunts- 
man.   "Hark  to  ^Mistress,  my  beauties." 

The  hounds  rush  to  ISIistress,  but  they  can't  quite  make  it 
out  until  Trumpeter  hits  off  the  line  with  a  joyous  shout. 
Then,  with  a  cheer  from  the  huntsman  that  fills  one's  heart  with 
joy,  the  pack  rush  to  the  line  with  a  burst  of  melody,  and  go 
streaming  away  like  race-horses  from  the  post  and  the  chase 
is  on. 

Away  we  went.  Our  first  fence  was  a  neatly  trimmed 
hedge,  about  three  and  one-half  feet  high.  I  took  Richard  "by 
the  head"  to  steady  him  to  it  the  same  as  at  timber.  Of  all 
things,  a  puller  and  a  rusher  at  his  fences  is  something  I  can- 
not abide.  Richard  would  have  no  meddling  with  his  head  and 
he  left  the  hedge  behind  him  in  his  stride. 

\Vhat\s  this?  An  overgrown  hedge  with  a  ditch  on  the  take- 
off' side?  I  saw  it  was  a  neck-or-nothing  ride  but  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  let  Richard  manage  it.  He  knew  more  about  this 
style  of  jumping  than  I  did.  On  we  went,  at  a  fearful  pace. 
Some  were  making  for  a  gate  to  the  right.    Others  were  riding 


166       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

their  own  line  and  going  straight.  I  gave  Richard  a  hght  pull 
to  the  right,  but  he  had  no  eye  for  the  gate.  Alreadj^  his 
mind  was  made  ujj  to  take  the  fence,  wliich  I  afterwards 
learned  was  called  a  bull-finch  (an  overgrown  hedge  on  a  bank 
with  a  ditch  on  either  side) .  I  thought  of  the  Colonel's  words, 
"All  j^ou  have  to  have  to  do  is  to  sit  still  and  Richard  will  take 
you  through  any  place  where  a  horse  can  go."  Still,  I  felt  as 
if  I  must  steady  him,  for  he  was  going  at  such  an  awful  pace. 
Others  were  going  the  same  pace  and  taking  the  fence.  Force 
of  habit  is  strong.  I  wanted  to  take  Richard  by  the  head  as 
if  he  were  going  for  a  stake-and-rider  in  the  Genesee  Valley. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Richard,  "Come  along,  stranger,  don't  be 
shy.  I'll  pull  you  through,"  and  so  he  did,  but  his  hind  legs 
dropped  into  the  ditch  on  the  landing  side  of  the  hedge. 

"Richard,  that  was  my  fault.  I  will  never  interfere  with 
you  again  at  a  bull-finch." 

We  rode  through  a  number  of  gates,  a  lane  and  along  the 
highway.  Then  we  entered  a  meadow,  jumped  a  small  hedge, 
and  a  sight  to  be  remembered  met  my  eyes.  Forty  riders, 
more  or  less,  were  sailing  down  the  gradual  slope  of  a  great 
pasture  field  toward  a  stream  brim  full  from  the  recent  rains. 
I  had  served  years  of  apprenticeship  at  dry  ditches  and  deep 
ravines  at  home,  but  my  experience  at  water  was  principally 
confined  to  the  usual  twelve  foot  water  jumps  on  exliibition 
grounds. 

Oh,  that  brook,  black,  silent,  deep  looking!  Saints  and 
ministers  of  grace  defend  us !  I  was  ready  to  go  home.  There 
are  any  number  of  ravines  and  ditches  in  the  Genesee  Valley, 
as  wide  and  as  deep.  Why  this  one  should  look  so  frightful, 
simply  because  it  was  full  of  water,  I  cannot  say.  I  knew  it 
must  be  the  safer  ditch  of  the  two  to  cross.  I  could  tell  by  the 
feeling  of  Richard  that  he  never  thought  of  turning  his  back 
to  it. 

"Come  on,"  shouted  the  Colonel,  who  went  past  me  with 


Trco  Daijs  With  the  Qiioni    {Second  Day)  1G7 

a  rush,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  harden  my 
heart  and  take  it. 

"F'ast  at  water  and  ditehes  and  slow  at  timber,"  is  the 
rule. 

The  Colonel  went  over  all  right.  This  encouraged  me. 
I  was  about  ten  rods  behind,  but  a  second  later  a  little  to  the 
right  of  my  line  a  rider  went  splash  into  the  stream.  There 
was  another  ominous  splash  to  the  left,  but  I  had  no  time  to 
look. 

"The  i^arson's  new  hat  jloated  down  the  stream; 
The  brim  was  covered  with  mire. 
His  riderless  horse  was  all  lather  and  steam. 
No  questions  were  asked  at  the  time,  it  would  seem 
The  jmce  was  too  good  to  inquire." 

I  wondered  if  the  sight  of  these  riders  in  the  water  would 
cause  Richard  to  refuse  when  he  came  to  the  brink.  Xot  he; 
Richard  never  flinched,  but  went  for  that  stream  like  a  school- 
girl at  a  skipping  rope.  He  landed  me  dry  shod  on  the  opposite 
bank. 

How  I  loved  that  horse !  I  looked  back  and  saw  two  rider- 
less horses  and  one  dripi)ing  rider  holding  on  to  the  bridle, 
his  horse  almost  entirely  submerged  in  the  brook. 

"Oh,  Richard,  you  are  a  trump." 

"How  do  you  like  him  ?"  asked  the  Colonel,  as  I  rode  up. 

"I  was  never  on  a  better  one  in  my  life,"  I  replied.  "I  did 
not  like  the  bull-finch,  and  that  brook  nearly  broke  my  heart, 
but  Richard  would  have  it.  Richard  is  managing  this  game 
all  right.     I  am  only  a  passenger." 

The  Colonel  looked  pleased. 

We  are  off"  again.  Finally,  after  a  few  more  gates  (I 
never  saw  so  much  riding  through  gates)  we  came  into  a  field 
with  a  two  bar  fence  on  a  small  bank  and  no  ditch  on  either 


168        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

side.  This  was  the  first  tiling  I  had  seen  that  looked  like  home. 
I  expected,  of  course,  to  take  it,  but  held  back,  being  in  a 
strange  country.     Not  a  man  went  for  that  timber. 

"What's  the  matter  with  that  fence?"  I  asked  a  fellow 
rider,  who  had  never  turned  a  hair  at  the  sight  of  the  brook. 

"You  are  welcome  to  it,"  said  he;  "I  own  to  flunking  that 
sort." 

I  should  not  like  to  say  that  a  four-foot  fence  of  timber 
stopped  the  Quorn  hunt.    I  think  I  must  be  mistaken. 

A  mile  or  more  further  on  the  hounds  ran  into  their  fox 
and  a  hundred  sportsmen,  of  the  most  fashionable  pack  of 
hounds  in  England,  chanted  his  funeral  dirge  with  a  whoop. 

'Twos  a  very  quick  find:  I  went  streaming  axvaii. 
That  day  with  the  Quorn,  on  "Bichard  the  Bay." 
He  did  all  the  hunting,  I'd  no  time  to  look; 
He  took  me  along  over  hull-finch  and  brook. 

Two  horses  went  in  with  a  terrible  splash. 
But  Bichard  would  have  it  and  went  with  a  dash. 
How  can  I  portray  my  feelings  that  day? 
On  that  marvellous  hunter,  "Bichard  the  Bay!" 

Many  thanks  to  the  Colonel,  may  he  live  long  and  well. 
And  the  story  of  Bichard,  to  his  grandchildren  tell. 
As  long  as  I  live  'tis  my  pleasure  to  say 
That  first  among  hunters  comes  "Bichard  the  Bay." 


"Unharhourcd  now  the  royal  stag  forsakes 
His  rcontcd  lair;  he  shakes  his  dappled  sides. 
And  tosses  high  his  beamy  head. 
Such  is  the  cry, 

And  such  the  harmonious  din;  the  soldier  deems 
The  battle  kindling  and  the  statesman  grave 
Forgets  his  weighty  cares." 

Somervile. 

XV 

THE  ROYAL  BUCKHOUNDS 

KING     EDWARD     III QUEEN     ANNE,     THE     CHURCH     AND     THE 

CHASE — THE   MEET   AT   ASCOT — THE   GREAT   ASSEMBLAGE — 
QUEEN  VICTORIA — THE  PRINCE  AND  PRINCESS  OF  WALES. 

rriHE  Kings  and  Queens  of  Great  Britain  have  always 
*■  been  foremost  in  the  art  and  science  of  the  chase.  In 
fact,  hunting;  was  formerly  confined  to  the  royal  families  and  to 
such  retainers  as  they  were  pleased  to  grant  the  privilege  to. 
To  date  its  beginning  "is  to  go  back,"  says  J.  P.  Hore  in  the 
History  of  the  Royal  Buckhounds,  "for  over  one  thousand 
years." 

The  records  of  the  chase  began,  we  believe,  in  the  reign  of 
Edward  III,  1327  to  1377.  "That  monarch,"  says  the  same 
authority,  "is  said  to  have  been  every  inch  a  sportsman.  He 
took  his  hawks  and  hounds  with  him  wherever  he  went,  whether 
at  home  or  abroad,  in  time  of  ])eace  or  in  time  of  war." 

The  custom  of  taking  hounds  with  the  British  Army  to 
war  is  in  practice  to  this  day.     They  went  wth  several  regi- 


170       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

ments  of  regulars  to  South  Africa  during  the  war  with  the 
Boers.  Hardly  an  English  garrison  can  be  found  in  any  part 
of  the  world  to-day  that  does  not  support  a  pack  of  hounds. 
The  writer  has  had  several  delightful  days  with  the  regimen- 
tal pack  on  the  little  island  of  Jersey,  which  is  only  fourteen 
miles  long  and  four  to  seven  miles  Avide  and  has  less  than  500 
men  and  officers  stationed  there  at  a  time.  They  have  a  very 
unique  way  of  hunting.  The  island  is  so  small  and  well  culti- 
vated that  only  a  narrow  strip  of  land  along  the  coast  can  be 
ridden  over.  The  fences  are  mostly  hedge  and  earth  banks 
where,  as  in  Ireland,  a  horse  jumps  upon  the  bank  and  then 
jumps  off  again. 

They  lay  a  drag  for  six  or  seven  miles  and  finish  with  a 
"worry"  for  the  hounds  near  some  hotel  along  the  coast  where 
the  riders  also  find  something  to  eat.  After  lunch  they  rest 
for  an  hour  or  more,  then  liberate  the  hounds  and  run 
the  same  trail  backwards  to  the  kennels.  Of  course  this  return 
run  is  a  steeplechase  for  speed  because  the  hounds  are  running 
their  own  tracks  back  to  the  kennels  as  fast  as  they  can  lay 
foot  to  the  ground.  It  is  all  good  sport,  the  best  that  can  be 
expected.  The  writer  will  never  forget  his  first  experience 
in  bank  jumping  on  the  island  of  Jersey.  His  mount  was 
very  slow  but  a  very  clever  fencer.  In  the  first  five  minutes 
of  the  return  run,  not  knowing  the  game,  he  found  himself 
quite  in  the  rear.  Hounds  and  riders  were  seen  smnging  to 
the  right  and  the  writer  thought  to  improve  his  position  by 
cutting  across  the  circle  they  were  making,  so  he  headed  his 
lumbering  old  nag  that  Avay.  He  took  a  bank  fence  that  was 
only  about  three  feet  high  from  the  take  off"  side,  when  to  his 
horror  he  found  it  a  good  seven  or  more  feet  from  the  top  of 
the  bank  to  the  ground  on  the  landing  side.  There  was  notliing 
to  do  but  harden  his  heart  and  take  the  plunge  the  best  he  knew 
how.  Sitting  on  a  sixteen  hand  horse  whose  four  feet  were 
all  in  a  bunch  on  the  top  of  an  eighteen  hand  fence,  makes 


The  Roijal  Biickliuuiuh  171 

one  feel  a  bit  flighty,  to  say  the  least.  Just  how  we  managed 
to  reach  the  eartli  again  is  still  a  question.  It  was  a  ploughed 
field,  but  of  steej)  descent,  and  we  landed  somehow,  but  in 
moving  on,  the  old  nag's  feet  got  mixed,  and  down  we  went. 
The  fall  began  in  the  first  stride  after  landing  and  never  ended 
until  horse  and  rider  fetched  up  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  some 
ten  rods  below.  Never  in  the  history  of  the  island  of  Jersey 
have  a  man  and  a  horse  collected  such  a  quantity  of  soil  on  their 
coats  as  was  dragged  out  of  that  ploughed  field  on  this  occa- 
sion. 

Let  us  return  to  the  Royal  Buckhounds.  A  quotation  from 
the  history  of  the  Royal  Euckliounds,  in  reference  to  a  meet 
with  this  famous  pack,  is  especially  interesting  as  showing  the 
true  sportsmanlike  conduct  of  King  Edward  III,  in  inviting 
his  prisoners  of  rank  to  join  with  him  in  the  chase. 

Now  let  us  picture  to  ourselves  the  brilliant  scene  presented 
at  a  meet  of  the  Royal  Buckhounds  in  those  days.  In  our 
mind's  eye  we  see  King  Edward  in  his  pride  of  place,  accom- 
panied by  the  Black  Prince,  and  his  wife, — who  has  achieved 
such  celebrity  as  "The  Fair  Maid  of  Kent,"  through  whom 
the  Order  of  the  Garter  is  said  to  have  originated — "time-hon- 
oured Lancaster,"  Lionel  of  Clarence,  and  a  brilliant  troop  of 
lords  and  ladies,  knights  galore,  and  doubtless  many  a  squire 
of  low  degree,  who  had  but  recently  won  his  spurs  on  numer- 
ous hard-fought  fields,  all  well  mounted  and  eager  for  the 
chase.  Besides  the  natives,  let  us  glance  at  the  foreigners  of 
distinction  who  are  present  at  the  meet.  Tlie  French  King, 
a  prisoner  of  war  on  parole,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  with  their 
suites,  the  flower  of  the  nobility  of  conquered  France,  are 
there,  trying  to  forget  their  misfortune  in  the  pleasures  of  the 
chase.  How  the  heart  of  the  peasant  who  came  to  see  the  meet 
must  throb  with  national  pride  as  he  looks  upon  the  royalty 
of  hvmibled  France!  What  pleasure  he  must  feel  as  he  tells 
his  sweetheart  by  his  side  that  yonder  sorrel  carries  Ralph, 


172       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hoimd 

Earl  of  Eu  and  Guisnes,  High  Constable  of  France,  and  on 
either  side  she  sees  Charles,  Lord  of  Blois,  and  the  Earl  of 
Tancarville.  David,  King  of  Scotland,  and  Iiis  Queen  are 
likewise  present  and  likewise  prisoners  of  war.  There  are 
other  great  personages  at  the  meet  among  King  Edward's 
guests  upon  whom  fortune  has  not  frowned,  whom  the  fame 
of  England  attracts  to  visit  their  hospitable  shores.  From  the 
East  we  see  the  King  of  Cyprus;  from  the  North,  the  Sover- 
eign of  Denmark.  The  reigning  Duke  of  Bavaria,  the  Duke 
of  Brabant,  Sir  Frank  van  Hall,  Sir  Henry  Earn  of  Flanders, 
"and  many  great  lords  and  knights  of  Almain,  Gascoigne,  and 
other  countries,"  are  also  to  the  fore.  A  highly-coloured  pic- 
ture perchance,  yet  withal  a  faithful  one  without  exaggeration. 
Such  a  scene  was  witnessed  in  the  vicinity  of  Windsor  in  those 
(then  rare)  piping  days  of  peace,  preparatory  to  the  INIaster 
throwing  off  the  hounds  to  seek  the  "antlered  monarch  of  the 
glen"  within  the  confines  of  the  forest  "full  of  wilde  dere," 
with  "homes  hie,"  the  greatest  that  "were  ever  seen  with  eie," 
as  old  Chaucer  hath  it.  These  "grand  huntings"  were  of  fre- 
quent occurrence,  upon  which  the  King  expended,  says  Barnes, 
in  liis  "History  of  Edward  III,"  "extraordinary  sums." 

"When  the  cares  of  state  permitted.  Queen  Anne  and  the 
high  officers  of  the  Court  usually  repaired  to  Windsor  in  July 
for  the  avowed  purpose  of  buck  hunting.  The  Royal  Diana 
Venatrix  was  early  and  'well  entred'  to  the  chase  under  personal 
supervision  of  her  Royal  father,  who  (before  he  wore  the 
weary  crown)  was  the  most  ardent  huntsman  of  his  day.  Im- 
bued with  such  venatic  associations,  Anne  became  a  mighty 
huntress.  She  continued  to  follow  hounds  on  horseback  until 
the  gout  precluded  the  continuance  of  that  exhilarating  exer- 
cise. Nevertheless,  her  ardour  for  the  chase  remaind  undi- 
minished; when  she  could  not  use  the  saddle  she  hunted  on 
wheels.  Her  Majesty's  hunting  calash  was  a  light  two-wheeled 
carriage,  containing  a  single  seat,  on  which  the  Royal  'whip' 


The  Roi/al  liuckhoumh  173 

sat  gracefully  poised,  skilfully  tooling  the  splendid  black  road- 
ster in  the  shafts.  In  this  vehicle  she  was  enabled  to  follow  a 
run  with  the  buckhounds  through  the  forest  glades  of 
Merry  Windsor,  sometimes  covering  forty  miles  in  a  single 
day. 

"Hunting  predominated  in  every  part  of  the  Kingdom. 
The  example  set  by  the  Royal  pack  found  emulation  in  all 
quarters,  hounds  were  ridden  to  by  all  classes,  from  lords  and 
ladies  of  high  degree  to  the  stiu'dy  yeomen  farmei's. 

"Like  many  of  her  predecessors,"  concludes  the  author 
above  quoted,  "Queen  Anne  delighted  to  see  'Common  people' 
hunt  and  be  merry  when  riding  to  her  hounds." 

So  it  has  ever  been  and  is  to  this  day  a  cardinal  virtue  of  the 
English  nobility  to  make  room  and  give  welcome  to  the  com- 
mon people  who  desire  to  join  them  in  the  chase  of  any  game 
afield. 

Queen  Elizabeth,  says  the  same  author,  "Kept  Stag- 
bounds,  TTarthounds,  Harriers  and  Otterhounds." 

The  church  vied  with  the  state  in  following  the  chase,  from 
the  Bishop  down  to  the  poorer  priest. 

Since  the  reformation,  however,  the  pastime  among  the 
"cloth"  has  been  much  curtailed,  nevertheless,  there  is  to-day 
hardly  a  Hunt  in  Great  Britain  but  has  from  one  to  half  a 
dozen  hard  riding  parsons  on  its  list  of  members,  and  very 
welcome  attaches  they  are  to  any  hunt. 

Even  to  this  day  there  are  in  England  several  packs  of 
hounds  whose  M.  F.  H's  fight  death  in  the  saddle  three  days 
of  the  week,  and  the  devil  from  the  i)ul])it  on  the  seventh. 

"The  latest  recruit  to  the  ranks  of  jVIaster  of  Foxhounds  in 
England,"  says  "Rider  and  Driver,"  "is  the  Rev.  Sir  William 
Hyde  of  IVIelford  Hall,  Long  ^felford,  Suffolk.  Five  years  ago 
Sir  William  established  a  capital  pack  of  harriers  to  hunt  the 
country  around  Long  INIelford;  but  on  hearing  that  the  New- 
market and  Thurlow  country  was  falling  vacant,  he  allowed 


174       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

himself  to  be  nominated  as  M.  F.  H.  of  the  country.  When 
at  Cambridge  University,  Sir  William  Hyde  Parker  was 
whipper-in  to  the  Trinity  College  Foot  Beagles,  and  has  ever 
since  been  deeply  interested  in  hunting,  so  he  came  to  his  new 
post  well  prepared.  The  Rev.  Charles  Rundas  Everett,  a 
whilom  navy  chaplain,  was  Master  of  the  famous  Berkshire 
Vale  Harriers  in  the  sixties  and  seventies." 

Parson  sportsmen  as  a  rule  are  the  most  enjoyable  men 
one  can  meet  with  in  any  country,  and  why  should  they  not 
enjoy  the  harmless  joys  of  life  hke  other  men  as  they  pass 
along?  Are  they  not  flesh  and  blood?  Shall  we  not  all  lie 
ahke  in  our  graves? 

If  a  preacher  i«  a  teacher  by  example  as  well  as  by  words, 
how  is  he  to  demonstrate  every  day  religion  except  by  an 
every  day  example  and  how  can  he  better  set  that  example  than 
by  actual  contact  with  week  day  men,  in  week  day  sports? 

Parson  Jack  Russell  was  one  of  the  most  noted  hunting 
characters  in  England.  He  was  not  only  a  hard  riding  par- 
son to  hounds,  but  was  Master  and  huntsman  to  his  own  pack 
of  otter  as  well  as  foxhounds. 

He  was  also  a  noted  breeder  of  terriers  and  was  the  first, 
we  believe,  to  enter  terriers  in  a  regular  way  to  the  chase  of 
the  fox. 

Here  is  the  Parson's  owii  description  of  "Trump,"  the  pro- 
genitress, says  "Thormanby,"  in  "Kings  of  the  Hunting 
Feld,"  of  the  renowned  Russell  strain  of  Fox  Terriers:  "White 
with  a  patch  of  dark  tan  over  each  eye  and  ears,  while  a  similar 
spot  not  larger  than  a  penny,  marked  the  roots  of  the  tail. 
Coat  thick,  close  and  a  trifle  wiry,  legs  straight  as  arrows,  size 
and  height,  those  of  a  full  grown  vixen." 

"So  great  was  his  fame  as  a  huntsman  and  ISIaster,"  says 
the  same  author,  "that  when  his  meets  were  announced  the 
whole  countrj^side  kept  holiday.  No  farmer  who  had  a  horse 
or  a  pony  failed  to  be  present.    Labour  was  entirely  suspended 


The  Koijal  liiich-lioiind.s  175 

and  even  the  women  put  on  their  Sunday  honnets  and  shawls 
to  go  and  see  Parson  Russell  find  his  fox." 

This  o-rand  old  sportsman  hunted  his  hounds  to  his  eighty- 
sixth  year.  His  riohle  deeds  in  the  hunting  field  and  ehurch 
as  well,  will  he  handed  down  in  Devonshire  to  iimumerahle 
generations  yet  unborn. 

We  have  been  dwelling  in  covert  overlong.  Let  us  hasten 
on  to  a  day,  when  in  company  with  liis  good  friend  Col.  Rich- 
ardson, whom  the  reader  already  knows  as  the  owner  of 
"Richard  the  Bay,"  the  writer  paid  a  visit  to  Windsor  Castle 
and  rode  through  the  great  Windsor  park  forest  to  the  meet 
of  the  Royal  Buckhounds  at  Ascot.  It  was  a  notable  gather- 
ing, for  it  was  at  the  time  of  the  Queen's  jubilee.  Many  per- 
sons of  the  royal  court,  official  dignitaries  of  the  govenunent, 
officers  of  the  army  and  navy,  were  assembled  at  Windsor  to 
join  in  the  royal  welcome  extended  to  distinguished  foreign 
visitors. 

We  reached  Windsor  the  day  before,  so  as  to  be  present  to 
witness  the  arrival  of  her  Majesty's  royal  guests. 

The  *Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales,  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  York,  and  many  others  were  at  the  station  to  welcome  the 
distinguished  guests.  The  city  was  gaily  decorated  with  flags 
and  bunting.  The  noted  "Life  Guards,"  probably  the  finest 
body  of  men  in  the  service  of  any  country,  were  on  hand  as  an 
escort,  and  a  regiment  of  two  of  the  regulars  lined  the  streets 
from  the  station  to  the  castle. 

It  was  all  very  grand,  but  to  see  these  great  men  and  a 
hundred  other  titled  ladies  and  gentlemen  the  following  day 
riding  in  the  chase  among  tenant  farmers,  shop  keepers  and 
jobmasters,  was  the  best  sight  of  all.  Her  ^Majesty,  Queen 
Victoria,  honoured  the  occasion  with  her  presence  by  driving 
to  the  meet  in  a  common  \ictoria  like  scores  of  others,  who  were 
there  on  a  similar  mission.  It  was  at  this  particular  meet  that 
*Since  crowned  King  Edward  \'II  ;uid  Quluii  Alcxiuidni. 


176       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

we  saw  a  grand  old  man  of  eighty  or  more,  leaning  heavily  on 
his  daughter's  shoulder  as  he  left  liis  carriage — for  he  was  quite 
a  cripple — to  be  hfted  into  the  saddle  and  fastened  there  with 
straps  about  his  legs.  The  reins  were  put  in  his  hands  and 
with  no  attendant  save  liis  daughter,  he  rode  that  day  in  the 
chase.  Soon  the  noted  pack  came  out  on  the  four  corners  with 
no  more  pomp  or  display  than  there  is  to  be  seen  at  any 
ordinary  meet.  Meanwhile,  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  riding 
about  among  the  tenant  farmers  and  nobles,  to  whom  he 
was,  alike,  speaking  a  word  and  recognising  with  a  kindly 
smile. 

These  are  the  qualities  that  go  so  far  towards  making  the 
Prince  of  Wales  so  popular  with  the  British  people.  He  is 
first,  last  and  all  the  time,  a  genuine  sportsman.  He  is  noted 
as  a  breeder  of  all  kinds  of  farm  stock  which  he  enters  at  all 
the  leading  fairs,  as  Avell  as  at  the  local  shows.  He  never  ex- 
hibits anything  but  what  he  breeds  and  raises  on  his  own 
farms.  He  competes  every  year  and  loses  to  tenant  farmers 
more  often  than  he  wins,  but  he  is  out  with  them  to  play  the 
game,  win  or  lose.  At  these  exliibitions  his  cattle  stand  in 
ordinary  stalls  alongside  those  of  ordinary  farmers. 

For  the  day,  at  least,  he  is  neither  prince  nor  peer,  but  an 
English  farmer,  and  as  such  goes  walking  about  the  grounds 
inspecting  the  stock,  shaking  hands  with  the  farmers,  and 
thanking  a  shepherd  lad  for  holding  a  prize  ram  while  he  parts 
the  wool  to  inspect  the  quality  of  fleece. 

This  is  the  most  charming  characteristic,  not  only  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  but  of  the  royalty  of  Great  Britain  in  gen- 
eral. Whatever  their  faults,  they  are  as  a  rule,  under  all  cir- 
cumstances, true  sportsmen.  In  whatever  game  they  enter, 
they  put  themselves  for  the  time  being  on  a  level  with  their 
humblest  competitors. 

They  tell  a  good  story  in  Scotland  concerning  the  Prince  of 
Wales — a  story,  it  is  said,  that  he  is  fond  of  telling  upon  him- 


The  Roi/al  Biickhonnds  177 

self.  It  seems  tliat  his  Royal  Highness  and  two  other  gentle- 
men  of  the  Royal  family  were  bird  shooting  in  Scotland. 
^Vhen  the  day's  sport  was  over  they  came  out  into  the  liigh- 
way,  where  it  had  been  arranged  that  their  host's  carriage  was 
to  meet  them.  Through  some  misunderstanding  the  carriage 
failed  to  arrive  at  the  appointed  place.  Meantime  a  Scotch 
farmer  happened  along  in  a  two-wheeled  farm  or  market  cart. 
The  Prince  of  Wales  proposed  to  liis  friends  that  they  ask  the 
farmer  for  a  ride  into  town. 

"Would  you  kindly  give  us  a  Hft  into  town?"  inquired  the 
prince. 

"Come  up,"  replied  the  farmer,  after  looking  these  gentle- 
men over  critically,  "come  up  and  be  smart  about  it,  for  a  ha' 
no  too  much  time  for  getting  me  butter  to  the  evening  express 
for  Edinburgh." 

The  Prince  of  Wales  got  up  in  front  and  the  other  two 
gentlemen  sat  up  beliind,  guns  in  hand,  on  a  scat  riding  back- 
wards. The  Scotchman  whipped  up  and  they  were  off  at  a 
rattling  pace.  After  driving  a  little  distance  the  Prince  of 
Wales  turned  to  one  of  the  gentlemen  riding  beliind  and 
inquired,  "Are  you  coming  on  all  right,  prince?" 

"Oh  nicely,  thank  you.  This  is  quite  the  most  enjoyable 
drive  I  have  had  in  years." 

At  tliis  the  farmer  pricked  up  his  ears  and  finally  inquired 
of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  "Who  are  the  gentlemen  u])  behind?" 
"The  one  back  of  you,"  replied  the  prince,  "is  Prince  Charles 
of  Denmark  and  the  other  is  Prince  Henry  of  Battenberg." 
There  was  a  long  pause,  when  the  farmer  continued,  "And  who 
are  you?"  "Well,"  replied  the  genial  Prince,  "they  call  me  the 
Prince  of  Wales."  There  was  another  long  pause,  when  his 
Royal  Highness  added,  "Now  I  have  told  you  who  we  are, 
perhaps  you  will  kindly  tell  us  whom  we  have  the  honour  of 
riding  wth."  "Aim  the  Tzar  of  Russia,"  replied  the  farmer, 
to  the  great  delight  of  his  three  princely  passengers. 


178        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

The  meet  of  the  Royal  Buckhounds  and  a  ride  through  the 
great  forests  of  Windsor  Castle,  was  a  day  to  remember,  espe- 
cially on  account  of  the  presence  of  Her  Majesty,  the  Queen, 
who  seemed  supremely  happy  in  the  fact  that  her  hounds  were 
giving  every  one  such  a  grand  day's  sport. 


"He  stands  at  hay,  against  yon  knotty  trunk. 
That  covers  ivell  Ids  rear;  his  front  presents 
An  host  of  foes." 

Somervile. 

XVI 

A  DAY  WITH   LORD   ROTHSCHILD'S    STAG- 
HOUNDS 

NEW     year's     eve     in     LONDON — THE     FOG THE     MEET — THE 

CRATEU    STAG ENLARGING    THE    STAG THE    CHASE — THE 

CAPTURE. 

A  SPORT  loving  English  friend  who  knew  the  writer's  ad- 
miration for  an  English  hound,  his  fondness  for  an  Irish 
hunter  and  his  w^eakness  for  riding  to  hounds  whenever  oppor- 
tunity afforded,  said,  "You  ought  to  pay  a  visit  to  Lord  Roths- 
child's staghounds  and  the  hunting  stables  of  his  brother,  Mr, 
Leopold  de  Rothschild  at  Leighton  Buzzard,  for  the  pack  is  one 
of  the  best  to  be  found  in  the  Kingdom;  and  finally,  if  you 
would  hke  a  cross  country  gallop  over  some  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful hunting  country  in  the  Queen's  domain,  you  should  not 

fail " 

"But  I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  his  Lordship." 
"Never  mind  that,  you  simply  write  him  a  letter  saying  you 
are  from  America  and  you  would  like  to  visit  the  kennels  and 
stables,  and  your  way  will  be  made  smooth." 

"On  any  other  subject,"  continued  my  friend,  "it  might  be 
difficult,  but  when  it  comes  to  a  (piestion  of  sport,  hounds, 
hunters  or  hunting,  there  is  no  barrier.    An  English  nobleman 


180       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hojind 

may  seek  the  most  exclusive  club  or  society,  but  when  it  comes 
to  a  question  of  sport  all  meet  on  the  level;  and  if  in  visiting 
this  stud  and  kennels  you  are  not  made  welcome,  it  will  be  the 
first  time  in  the  liistory  of  Great  Britain  that  an  English 
sportsman,  no  matter  what  his  station,  ever  failed.  If  you 
M'ish,  I  will  write  Lord  Rothscliild  for  you.  You  certainly 
ought  to  see  these  hounds  and  I  am  sure  his  Lordship  will  be 
very  pleased  to  have  you." 

In  due  time  there  came  the  follo^ving: 

"Lord  Rotlischild  directs  me  to  say  he  will  be  very  pleased 
to  have  you  visit  the  kennels,  wliich  are  at  Ascot,  Leighton 
Buzzard.  If  you  will  Idndly  inform  his  brother,  ISIr.  Leopold 
de  Rothscliild,  who  lives  at  Ascot,  on  what  day  and  train  you 
are  coming,  he  will  see  that  you  are  met  at  the  station  and 
shoAvn  all  about." 

There  are  few  more  interesting  or  more  beautiful  places 
in  England  than  the  home  of  Mr.  Leopold  de  Rothscliild  at 
Ascot. 

The  private  secretary,  Mr.  Tarver,  took  me  in  hand,  first  to 
visit  the  kennels,  where  the  huntsman,  John  Boore,  exhibited 
singly  and  in  couples,  as  my  friend  predicted,  some  of  the 
grandest  staghounds  in  England,  all  twenty-five  inches  and 
over,  at  the  shoulder,  and  as  alike  as  peas  from  the  same  pod, 
especially  those  of  liis  own  breeding. 

Boore  had  lately  come  into  the  position  of  huntsman  made 
vacant  by  the  celebrated  huntsman  and  hound  breeder,  Fred 
Cox,  who  for  forty-five  years  had  filled  that  position  before 
him.  Boore  loves  a  liound  and  it  was  easy  to  see  he  had  the  eye 
and  judgment  in  hound  breeding  to  preserve  and  perpetuate 
the  very  high  standard  set  by  liis  predecessor. 

The  hounds  duly  inspected,  we  passed  the  enclosure  where 
the  stags  were  confined — some  eight  or  ten  of  them — in  a  pad- 
dock adjoining  a  stable  into  which  they  are  driven  and  from 
which  they  are  carted,  in  turn,  to  be  liberated  for  the  chase. 


LORD  ROTHSCHILD  AND  MR.  LEOPOLD  DE  ROTHSCHILD 


A  Dot/   With  Lord  RolJischUd's  Staghounds        181 

When  they  are  finally  brought  to  hay  at  the  close  of  the  chase, 
they  are  secured  by  ropes  or  driven  into  a  near-by  staole,  from 
which  they  are  again  forced  into  the  cart.  They  are  returned 
to  the  paddock  to  wait  their  turn  to  lead  the  chase  again. 

Now  we  come  to  the  celebrated  heavy  weight  hunters,  for  it 
must  be  remembered  that  INIr.  Leopold  de  Rothschild  rides  at 
something  over  fifteen  stone  or  two  hundred  and  twenty-five 
pounds.  Tills  means  that  it  requires  a  good  horse  to  carry 
him. 

Xearly  all  the  hunters  have  been  Irish  bred  and  have  been 
selected  \AW\  great  care  and  at  prices  consistent  with  the  weight 
they  have  to  carry  as  well  as  their  ability  beyond  question  to 
carry  their  owner  over  some  of  the  stiff  est  jumping  country  in 
that  part  of  England.  It  is  doubtful  if  there  can  be  found  in 
an}'  other  one  stud  in  England  so  many  thoroughly  qualified 
heavy  rceight  hunters.  There  were  probably  a  score  of  them 
that  woidd  weigh  twelve  hundred  pounds  and  over,  with  bone 
enough  for  cart  horses,  and  still  with  quality  such  as  one  only 
finds  in  the  Irish  hunter  of  such  great  size.  \Vhile  many  of 
them  were  a  bit  rough  and  ragged  about  the  liips,  also  a  char- 
acteristic of  the  Irish  hunter,  they  were  exceedingly  muscular. 
There  was  not  what  might  be  called  a  short-backed  horse  in 
the  string. 

"^lust  have  length  to  get  on,"  said  the  groom,  "and  a  horse 
to  keep  with  his  Lordship's  staghounds  over  grass  must  kee^) 
moving." 

After  a  look  through  the  racing  stables,  we  repaired  to  the 
manor  house  through  one  of  the  most  lovely,  old-fashioned, 
formal  gardens  in  England.  The  house  itself  is  a  dream  of 
beauty  and  a  joy  to  all  beholders. 

It  was  New  Year's  Eve  in  I^ondon.  It  was  a  day  that  even 
a  Londoner,  who  seldom  sees  the  sun  in  \\-inter,  calls  "beastly." 
The  lamps  in  the  street  had  been  burning  with  a  sallow  light 


182       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

all  day.  A  thick,  yellow,  greasy  fog  enveloped  everything, 
bringing  with  it  from  the  air  above  the  smoke  and  soot  from 
a  million  fires.  It  made  your  eyes  smart  and  irritated  your 
lungs  and  lampblacked  your  linen.  It  not  only  made  every- 
tliing  damp  and  clammy  to  the  touch  but  it  penetrated  your 
bones  to  cliill  the  marrow  and  make  you  cross  outside  and 
inside. 

Such  a  day  was  December  tliirty-first,  eighteen  hundred  and 
ninety-nine,  in  London.  We  had  spent  our  Christmas  away 
from  home  and  now  the  New  Year  was  at  hand,  but  in  such  a 
melancholy  garb  as  to  bring  on  a  fit  of  homesiclviiess,  or  some- 
thing worse,  the  blues. 

In  the  hotel  bar-room,  the  landlady  was  demanding  an 
extra  sixpenny  piece  from  a  transient.  The  soft  expressionless 
face  of  the  barmaid  even  failed  to  produce  a  grin  as  she  tittered 
to  a  soft-pated  youngster,  who  was  drinking  her  health  wliile 
he  squeezed  her  hand  over  the  bar,  and  the  other  chappies  who 
had  come  in  on  the  same  errand  were  dull  and  stupid  beyond 
the  effects  of  "polly  and  scotch." 

"Here's  a  letter  for  you,  sir,"  said  mine  hostess,  unex- 
pectedly. It  read :  "INIr.  Leopold  de  Rothschild  wishes  me  to 
inform  you  that  there  is  to  be  a  meet  of  Lord  Rothscliild's 
hounds  to-morrow  at  Vicarage  Farm,  Wingrave,  Leighton 
Buzzard.  Although  it  is  a  bye  day,  Mr.  Rothschild  thinks 
you  would  enjoy  it,  as  it  will  be  over  some  of  our  most  beauti- 
ful country.  Tliis  being  a  holiday  for  many,  the  attendance 
is  sure  to  be  good.  INIr.  Rothschild  also  wishes  me  to  say  that 
if  you  can  come,  answer  by  wire  so  I  can  arrange  for  your 
mount,  which  I  have  in  reserve  pending  your  reply. 

'Tarver. 
"Private  Secretary  to  Leopold  de  Rothschild." 

"If  I  can  come!"  I  would  go  anywhere  to  get  out  of  this, 
but  really  I  am  as  bad  as  the  ladies,  bless  them,  I  have  nothing 
to  wear.    One  pair  of  riding  trousers  is  in  the  wash,  the  other 


A  Day   With  Lord  lioth-schild's  Staghounds         18.3 

needs  mending;  however,  if  the  fog  is  as  thick  to-morrow  no 
one  will  be  the  wiser  whether  I  have  "anj'tliing  to  wear"  or 
not.  "If  I  can  come."  Yes,  if  I  can  crawl  I  will  come.  Wonder 
if  the  fog  will  lift.  What  is  the  forecast  for  to-morrow?  "Sta- 
tionary barometer,  London  and  vicinity,  Cloudy  and  fog." 

I  was  slow  making  friends  with  INIorphcus  that  night 
and  when  finally  he  took  a  hand  he  was  so  shy  about  it  that 
my  dreams  came  in  a  tangle.  It  seemed  that  while  lying  in  a 
puddle  of  ice  water  (that  was  owing  to  the  damp  linen  sheet 
that  nothing  could  warm),  a  great  stag  came  to  the  puddle  to 
quench  his  thirst,  wliich  was  so  great  that  it  seemed  he  would 
drink  all  the  water  and  thus  expose  the  dreamer's  hiding 
place,  for  he  had  "nothing  to  wear"  and  had  taken  to  this 
refuge  in  hopes  the  riders  would  pass  him  unobserved.  Then 
came  the  hounds,  and  they  all  commenced  to  drink  and  they 
were  as  tliirsty  as  the  stag,  who  still  continued  to  guzzle  do%vn 
the  water  until  the  pond  was  nearly  dry.  A  few  pond  lily 
leaves  were  now  all  that  ^\■ere  left  by  way  of  covering  and  he 
knew  how  Eve  must  have  felt  with  all  the  animals  of  the  garden 
staring  at  her  when  she  and  Adam  received  notice  to  vacate, — 
she  having  "nothing  to  wear."  The  dreamer  saw  the  riders 
come  galloping  up  to  water  their  horses.  Just  then  there  was  a 
pull  at  the  pond  lily  leaves.  The  stag  was  eating  them.  No, 
he  was  mistaken.  It  was  only  a  gentle  pull  on  the  bedclothes 
by  the  chambermaid,  and,  "I  have  brought  your  hot  water, 
sir;  the  clock  has  gone  five,  sir.  The  boots  ^nll  bring  your 
riding  breeches  and  hunting  boots  in  a  moment." 

"How  is  the  weather?" 

"The  fog  is  still  on,  sir," — going  to  the  window  to  raise  the 
shade, — "but  I  think  it's  surely  going  to  clear,  sir." 

It  was  evident  that  she  had  waited  on  hunting  men  before. 
She  knew  her  trade  and  received  a  shilling  for  her  cheerful 
prophecy  when  otherwise  she  would  have  had  to  do  with  a 
sixpence. 


184       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"Will  you  have  your  tea  brought  up  or  will  you  take  it  in 
the  breakfast  room?  The  cab  has  been  ordered  for  you  at 
five-thirty,  sir." 

What  a  rehef  that  the  lily  pond  Avas  only  a  dream  and  that 
"it  was  surely  going  to  clear."  The  bill  was  too  much  by  a 
couple  of  shillings.  Well,  no  matter.  The  chambermaid,  boots 
and  hall  porter  received  a  double  fee,  for  it's  "surely  going  to 
clear,"  and  we  must  go  a-hunting  to-day. 

"Euston  Station,"  shouted  the  hall  porter  to  cabby  and, 
"look  sharp  to  catch  the  six  train  for  Leighton." 

The  fog  seemed  thicker  and  blacker  than  ever,  but  only 
think  if  it  should  be  clear  at  Leighton  and  we  not  there. 

Arriving  at  Leighton,  I  found  the  Red  Lion  Inn,  a  hostelry 
"for  sportsmen  designed."  JNIadam  Host  was  as  full  of  go  for 
the  occasion  as  a  brass  band.  The  breakfast  was  splendid  and 
although  the  fog  had  not  lifted  there  were  indications  that  it 
was  trying  to  do  so. 

INIany  had  come  from  London  with  their  horses,  a  dozen  or 
more,  wliich  were  brought  along  by  the  same  train.  These 
especially  designed  cars  for  hunters,  which  are  put  on  all  the 
regular  trains  the  day  of  any  meet  with  any  pack  of  hounds 
within  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  of  London,  are  the  best  that 
could  be  contrived  for  the  purpose.  They  are  set  on  the  switch 
at  the  station  and  the  groom  in  charge  looks  after  the  horses 
until  they  are  wanted  to  ride  to  the  meet,  or  perhaps  they  are 
sent  on  at  once  and  the  rider  follows  in  a  public  conveyance. 
The  train  from  the  north  brought  in  as  many  more  riders  and 
hunters,  and  soon  after  breakfast,  men  and  women  in  riding  cos- 
tume were  all  about  the  Red  Lion  Inn.  Riders  from  a  dis- 
tance, say  twelve  to  twenty  miles,  were  riding  up  singly  and 
in  pairs  so  as  to  give  their  mounts  a  taste  before  going  on  to  the 
meet. 

The  Landlady  said  she  knew  I  was  from  America.  She 
said  she  had  a  brother  there.     Although  I  had  not  had  the 


A  Dai/   Jf'ilh  Lord  liutJischild's  Slar/hoinuh         18.5 

pleasure  of  meeting  her  brother,  she  took  me  especially  in  hand. 

"Is  this  your  first  visit  to  the  Red  Lion?" 

"Indeed  it  is,  but  I  am  sure  it  will  not  be  the  last." 

"No?" 

"I  have  just  had  the  best  breakfast  I  ever  had  in  England." 

Then  we  fell  into  a  bit  of  gossip  concerning  the  interesting 
people  in  the  house  and  those  arriving  or  passing  the  door. 

"That's  the  Earl  of  Essex  and  his  son,  Lord  :Malden," 
she  volunteered  as  an  elderly  man  and  a  youth  rode  up 
together. 

I^ady  Lurgan  was  next  pointed  out  as  one  of  the  best  lady 
riders  in  England.  That's  the  Earl  of  Irchester,  the  Earl 
of  Clarendon,  and  I^ady  Edith,  his  daughter. 

That  stout  man  is  the  Hon.  Walter  Rothschild,  M.  P.,  son 
of  Lord  Rothschild.     He  rides  sixteen  stone  (224  lbs). 

Lady  Lillian  Crenfell  and  the  Earl  of  Leitrim,  Col.  Wood- 
house,  Col.  Rich  and  son,  and  Commander  Rich  were  next 
pointed  out. 

"The  iwo  young  men  who  have  just  ridden  up,"  said  my 
hostess,  "are  the  sons  of  the  Earl  of  Rosebcry,  and  the  young 
lady,  Lady  Sj-bil  Primrose,  their  sister,  etc.  etc." 

]Many  other  notable  personages  were  pointed  out  to  me  by 
^Ir.  Taner  who,  when  we  were  mounted,  ])il()ted  me  to  the 
meet  where  he  presented  me  to  Mr.  Leopold  de  Rothschild 
and  several  others.  I  mention  this  only  to  show  the  courtesy 
of  an  English  nobleman  to  a  man  with  no  title  save  that  of  an 
American  farmer,  who,  as  was  well  known  to  Lord  Rothschild, 
was  in  England  on  business  working  for  his  daily  bread — his 
passport  being  his  fondness  for  a  horse  and  a  hound  and  his 
love  of  the  chase. 

The  meet  was  at  Vicarage  Farm.  ^Vingrave,  some  three 
or  four  miles  from  Leighton  Buzzard,  where  we  have  already 
taken  the  reader  to  visit  the  kennels  and  the  house  of  INIr. 
Leopold  de  Rothschild. 


186        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Each  cross  road  that  we  passed  poured  into  the  main  road 
its  contribution  of  riders,  so  that  before  the  meet  was  reached 
the  highway  contained  almost  an  unbroken  procession.  Occa- 
sionally a  youth,  or  light  headed  rider  in  a  new  hunting  coat, 
or  a  horse  dealer  who  could  not  resist  the  opportunity  to  dis- 
play himself  or  his  horse,  went  galloping  by  on  the  side  of  the 
road  as  though  he  had  been  thrown  out  of  the  run  and  was 
making  all  speed  to  recover  the  hounds.  There  was  a  timid 
city  chappie  on  a  nervous  three-cornered  rake  of  a  thorough- 
bred that  the  best  architect  or  land  surveyor  could  neither 
design  nor  measure.  A  very  uncomfortable  partnership  they 
made  for  each  other,  but  they  afforded  a  lot  of  amusement  for 
the  lookers-on.  The  horse,  instead  of  going  forward  head  first, 
went  drifting  down  the  road  sideways  like  a  yacht  that  had 
shpped  her  moorings  and  was  going  down  river  beam  first, 
sometimes  stern  first. 

Now  and  again  the  horse  would  lower  his  head  and  throw 
the  rider — a  tall,  slim  man — onto  his  neck,  then  he  would 
start  straight  ahead  as  if  a  flag  had  fallen  before  him,  in  any 
direction  he  happened  to  be  heading,  when  the  spell  struck  liim. 
Sometimes  he  headed  down  off  the  macadam  as  if  he  were 
going  to  take  the  hedge.  But  instead  he  downed  helm  and 
changed  from  the  port  to  the  starboard  tack  and  so  continued 
until  he  finally  fetched  up  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road, 
drifting,  drifting,  bolting  ahead,  coming  in  stays,  and  so  on 
from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other,  greatly  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  small  boys  and  farm  lads,  who  offered  suggestions  as 
the  pair  drifted  past. 

"Your  'orse  is  giving  you  lots  of  ride  for  your  money," 
volunteered  one  farm  hand  over  the  fence. 

Said  another  farm  hand  to  liis  companion:  "I  say,  Bill,  I 
say.  Bill,  there  goes  a  'orse  what  'ad  "is  'ead  put  on  where  his 
tail  oughter  be.    'E's  built  to  go  tother  end  to." 

"No,  liit's  cause  the  rider  is  cross-eyed   and   'e  can't  no 


A  Day  With  Lord  Rothschild's  Staghoiinds        187 

more  go  the  way  'e's  looking  than  'e  can  look  the  way  'e's 
going.     'E  oughter  wear  blinkers." 

"Bill,  you  are  wrong  again.  Hit's  my  opinion  as  'tis  only 
an  oat  as  is  pricking  'im.  'E'll  straighten  out  when  it  gets 
past  the  tickling  spot." 

Here  we  are  at  the  meet,  a  typical  English  cross  roads 
where  there  is  a  big  sign  on  a  very  small  inn  under  a  thick 
straw  roof.  It  stood  facing  the  village  green  and  was  called 
"The  Golden  Fleece."  A  private  house  on  the  other  side  of 
the  green  does  duty  as  a  store,  post  and  telegraph  office.  A  few 
other  thatched  cottages,  covered  with  English  ivy,  squatted 
low  on  the  ground,  behind  neatly  trimmed  hedge  enclosures, 
their  front  yard  filled  with  ornamental  shrubs,  flowers  and 
roses.  In  the  centre  of  the  green  is  the  public  duck  pond,  the 
green  itself  being  a  pasture  of  the  fowls,  a  playground  for  the 
neighbouring  children,  a  whittling  place  for  the  village  talent 
and  a  lounging  place  for  any  one  so  disposed. 

Just  back  of  all  tliis,  but  hidden  by  a  high  hedge,  shrubs 
and  tree  border,  is  the  Rectory,  Avliich  is  better  seen  from  a 
little  way  down  the  road  where  the  snug  httle  Rectory  Lodge 
makes  a  break  in  the  hedge.  There  you  may  look  down  the 
beautiful  circling  drive  and  across  a  meadow  to  the  Rectory 
itself  which,  although  more  than  half  hidden  by  vines  and 
shrubbery,  looks  ideal.  On  the  o])posite  side  of  the  road,  back 
from  the  liighway  in  a  meadow  of  great  spreading  oaks,  stands 
the  "Hall,"  the  home  of  the  village  Scpiire.  a  man  who.  if  his 
temperament  suits  and  it  usually  does  in  England,  lives  the 
ideal  life, — a  few  hunters  to  ride,  a  few  horses  to  drive,  a  game 
preserve  on  his  own  land,  a  shooting  box  in  Scotland  and  a 
yacht  on  the  Solent.  He  owns  a  thousand  broad  acres  where 
he  and  his  tenants  breed  pure  bred  stock  wliich  ynn  honours 
at  the  fair  in  competition  with  her  INIajesty  the  Queen,  and 
his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

The  squire  is  an  old  man  now,  judging  by  his  white  hair 


188        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

and  portly  build;  but  he  is  at  the  meet  on  a  trusty  Norfolk 
cob  which  looked  as  if  it  could  carry  a  ton.  While  he  may  not 
cut  it  down  across  country  with  the  younger  bloods,  he  will  see 
quite  as  much  of  the  fun,  for  he  knows  every  lane  and  gate 
in  all  the  country  round.  It  is  liis  own  land  the  hunt  is  to  ride 
over.  His  sons  are  out  on  hunters  of  liis  own  breeding.  His 
granddaughter  is  by  Iiis  side  sitting  astride  on  a  little  Welsh 
cob  which  will  carry  her  to  perfection  and,  as  you  can  easily 
imagine,  greatly  to  her  grandsire's  dehght. 

What  a  crowd  there  was!  Something  over  a  hundred 
mounted  riders  assembled  at  this  meet,  wliich  is  a  hundred 
short  of  the  usual  attendance  at  the  spring  meet  or  when  the 
fixture  is  at  Ascot  or  at  Tring  Park,  the  home  of  Lord  Roths- 
child. 

Here  come  the  hounds,  headed  by  the  huntsman,  and  the 
whipper-in,  followed  by  a  score  or  more  of  riders  who 
have  purposely  lingered  to  keep  them  company.  If  the  hounds 
looked  a  grand  lot  at  the  kennels,  what  shall  we  say  of  them 
now,  this  twenty  odd  couple  of  dog  hounds  selected  with  care 
as  to  size  and  markings?  As  they  come  trotting  on  to  the 
village  green  beside  the  superbly  mounted  horseman  and  wliip- 
per-in  in  their  pink  hunting  coats,  white  breeches  and  black 
velvet  caps,  the  crowd  receive  them  with  a  cheer.  At  this 
moment  Mr.  Leopold  de  Rothscliild  drives  up  with  the  other 
members  of  his  family. 

By  the  time  they  have  answered  the  salutations  of  their 
friends,  and  a  few  strangers  and  out  of  town  visitors  have 
been  introduced,  their  mounts  are  led  up,  their  over- 
coats are  dropj^ed  off  and  in  a  moment  more  they  are  in  the 
saddle. 

The  most  noted,  if  not  the  most  interesting  personage  is 
yet  to  arrive.    We  have  not  long  to  wait. 

"The  stag!  The  stag!  Here  comes  the  stag."  Again  the 
crowd  on  the  green  parts  like  the  waters  of  the  Red  Sea  to 


JOHN   BOORE,    HUNTSMAN 


A  Ddij  With  Lord  liothschild'a  Stmjiioiinds         189 

receive  Pharaoh's  chariot,  and  likewise  closes  ii])oii  it  when  it 
enters  the  crowded  green. 

Lord  Rothschild,  who,  with  his  hrother,  headed  the  proces- 
sion, was  followed  bj'  the  riders  and  the  crated  stag.  We  all 
moved  on  to  witness  the  "enlargement,"  as  the  liberation  of  the 
stag  is  called.  This  took  place  a  mile  or  more  from  the  meet. 
The  hounds,  however,  remained  at  the  Village  to  allow  twenty 
minutes  or  half  an  hour  "law"  to  the  stag  before  they  were  put 
upon  his  trail. 

Finally,  after  entering  a  most  beautiful  field  with  great 
rolling  meadows,  a  wide  expanse  of  the  richest  and  most  beauti- 
ful agricultural  district  came  into  view.  The  crated  stag  was 
halted  near  the  gate  in  the  field.  The  door  was  thrown  open  and 
out  stepped  his  highness.  Then  as  the  crowd  of  spectators  gave 
a  cheer,  he  crouched  for  a  mighty  spring  that  sent  him  liigh  in 
the  air.  Thus,  in  a  succession  of  bounds,  he  circled  the  field, 
returning  to  witliin  a  hundred  feet  or  so  of  the  van.  He  then 
jumped  the  hedge,  almost  in  the  presence  of  the  crowd,  wdiose 
renewed  cheering  sent  him  across  the  field  to  the  right,  giving 
us  all  a  splendid  chance  to  view  him  as  he  raced  away  over  the 
crest  of  a  distant  hill  to  disappear  in  a  clump  of  timber. 

After  allowing  twenty  minutes  "law,"  as  above  recorded 
the  huntsman  and  whii)])ers-in  came  smartly  on  with  the  pack. 
The  moment  the  hounds  began  to  feel  the  line  away  went  their 
tongues  in  one  grand  chorus  and  the  chase  began. 

It  was  a  glorious  sight,  hounds,  horses,  men.  One  and  all 
race  aAvay  down  the  vale,  across  the  great  fields,  up  the  slope, 
over  ditches,  hedges  and  timber  into  the  wood,  where  the  stag 
was  seen  to  disappear.  That  first  twenty  minutes,  what  a 
thrilling  ride!  It  was  such  a  twenty  minutes  as  comes  only 
now  and  then  to  those  who  frequent  hunting  fields.  Those 
beautiful  fields,  that  wonderful  turf  and  the  hedges,  how  they 
flew  past  and  under  us,  they  seemed  to  be  coming  at  us  like 
driftwood  racing  down  a  mighty  stream. 


190       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"No  ships  with  wind  and  tide. 
And  all  their  canvas  wings. 
Scud  half  so  fast." 

We  gain  the  hill,  pass  the  wood  and  away  again,  crossing 
another  vale.  The  blood  of  my  Irish  mount  is  up  and  go  he 
will.  The  stag  had  taken  to  water  in  a  small  pond  in  front 
of  some  gentleman's  home.  It  was  a  bad  move,  for  now  the 
hounds  were  upon  him  and  raced  him  from  scent  to  view, 
back  through  the  httle  village  of  the  meet.  Finally  they 
brought  him  to  bay,  in  the  outer  entry  of  a  httle  chapel  in  an 
adjoining  town.  Facing  the  hounds,  he  stood  them  at  bay.  He 
was  soon  secured  and  we  all  went  back  to  our  hotel  at  Leighton 
Buzzard,  where  one  of  the  best  of  dinners  was  served  alike  to 
Earls  and  farmers,  Dukes  and  traders. 


"The  huntsman  knows  him  by  a  thousand  marks, 
Black  and  embossed;  nor  arc  his  hounds  deceived; 
Too  tcell  distinguish  these,  and  never  leave 
Their  once-devoted  foe;  familiar  grows 
His  scent  and  strong  their  appetite  to  overtake." 

Somervile. 

XVII 

THE  CHASE  OF  THE  WILD  RED  DEER  IN 
DEVONSHIRE 

THE  DEVON  AND  SOMERSET  STAGHOUNDS — LORNA  DOONE^S  COUN- 
TRY  THE  QUANTOCK  HILLS THE  MEET ANTHONY  HUX- 

TABLE — THE  TUFTERS — THE  CHASE — TAKING  THE  DEER^. 
A    LONG    RIDE    HOME. 

"VIZHILE  in  England  in  the  winter  of  1898,  I  received  a 
letter  from  ]Mr.  Alfred  Skinner  of  Bishop's  Lydard, 
Devonshire,  inviting  me  to  visit  him  and  have  a  day  with  the 
Devon  and  Somerset  staghounds,  then  hunting  three  days  a 
week  in  the  Quantock  Hills,  near  ]Mr.  Skinner's  farm. 

As  tliis  was  not  my  first  visit  to  the  famous  Devonshire 
country  nor  my  first  day  with  the  Devon  and  Somerset  stag- 
hounds,  I  knew  something  of  what  was  in  store  for  me:  I  was 
not  long  in  deciding  to  test  once  more  the  hospitality  of  "Pond 
Farm,"  wliich,  you  must  know,  is  of  the  genuine  Devonshire 
sort,  with  Devonsliire  cream  and  Devonshire  cider,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  gooseberry  tarts,  etc.  Added  to  this  was  my  very 
vivid  recollection  of  one  of  the  grandest  day's  sport  I  had 
ever  experienced  with  hounds;  this  was  in  '93.  How  many, 
many  times  had  I  lived  over  that  memorable  run!    I  had  but 


192       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

lately  finished  reading  that  fascinating  novel,  "Lorna  Doone" ; 
and  to  find  myself  riding  to  the  "meet"  in  that  famous  "Doone" 
country,  amid  just  such  surroundings  as  the  author  had 
described,  was  a  double  pleasure  and  made  the  novel  doubly 
real.  I  recalled  also,  with  much  pleasure,  the  breedy  little 
roan  mare  that  JNIr.  Sldnner  had  secured  for  my  mount;  and 
how  the  hunted  deer  led  us  a  steeplechase  pace  down  one  hill 
and  up  another,  down  again,  and  through  farm  after  farm, 
over  ditches  and  fences,  some  of  which  were  big  sod  fences 
where  a  horse  jumps  to  the  top,  balances  there  for  a  moment 
with  all  four  feet  in  a  bunch,  and  then  jumps  down  on  the 
other  side.  Often  there  is  a  ditch  on  the  opposite  side,  some- 
times on  both:  sometimes  the  fence  looks  low  on  the  "take  off" 
side  but  you  find,  after  it  is  too  late  to  change  your  mind,  that  it 
is  five  feet  or  more  from  the  top  of  the  fence  to  the  landing 
on  the  other  side.  Then,  seated  on  a  horse  that  is  balancing 
himself  on  the  top  of  such  a  jump,  it  seems  a  terrible  distance 
to  the  ground.  There  is  notliing  to  do  but  put  youi-  trust  in 
your  mount,  and  take  the  drop  as  best  you  can. 

I  also  recall  there  were  nearly  a  hundred  mounted  riders 
that  day,  -with  a  good  sprinkling  of  ladies,  and  that  it  took 
a  good  deal  of  hard  riding  to  keep  some  of  our  fair  com- 
panions in  sight,  when  liind  and  hound  were  racing  out  of 
view.  I  remember  how,  for  one  hour  and  twenty  minutes, 
the  deer  set  such  a  pace  that  fully  half  the  field  were  left  hope- 
lessly beliind  in  the  first  half  of  the  run;  and  how  she  finally 
took  to  the  sea,  and  after  swimming  out  for  a  mile  or  more, 
returned  to  be  taken  on  the  rocky  north  shore  of  the  British 
Channel,  twelve  or  fifteen  miles  from  where  the  pack  first 
"laid  on."  Then  the  Master,  Mr.  Bisset,  kindly  presented 
me  with  one  of  the  hind's  feet,  which  I  had  mounted  as  a  match- 
box; and  a  month  or  so  after  my  return  to  America,  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  receiving  the  pelt  of  the  deer,  with  the  same 
gentleman's  compliments.     It  is  needless  to  say  that,  with 


The  Chase  of  the  Wild  Red  Deer  in  Devonshire    193 

such  recollections  as  these,  I  was  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
mj'self  for  the  avIioIc  week  between  receiving  Mr.  Skinner's 
letter  and  my  hui(liii<^'  at  Bishop's  Lychird. 

The  meet  was  at  "Triscombe  Stone,"  near  the  summit  of 
one  of  the  loftiest  peaks  of  the  Quantock  range,  and  about 
seven  miles  from  Mr.  Sldnner's  house.  We  were  joined  on 
the  way  by  gentlemen  and  ladies  until,  by  the  time  we 
reached  the  foot-hills,  we  formed  quite  a  cavalcade.  It  was 
very  pleasing  to  see  among  them  some  old — I  should  say 
elderly — gentlemen;  for  one  can  hardly  call  a  man  of  sixty  or 
even  seventy  years  of  age,  old,  when  one  sees  him  mounted 
and  bound  for  a  hard  day's  ride  over  some  of  the  roughest 
hunting  country  in  England.  These  men  are  not  old,  and  as 
long  as  they  can  sit  on  a  horse  and  ride  to  hounds,  they  will 
outride  death,  and  be,  as  we  saw  them,  young  at  seventy. 
There  were  ladies  also  whose  hair  was  beautifully  sprinkled 
with  grey,  whose  foreheads  were  scarred  and  furrowed  by 
time,  but  they  had  become  young  again,  as  you  could  see  by 
their  faces,  on  which  a  smile  was  so  near  the  surface  that  it 
appeared,  if  you  addressed  them  wth  the  most  ordinary 
remark.  There  is  certainly  nothing  in  the  world  like  hunting 
to  turn  backwards  the  hands  on  the  dial  of  time!  Nothing  like 
a  hard  day's  gallop  to  hounds  to  cheat  the  family  physician 
out  of  his  living  and  to  put  off  the  undertaker's  approaching 
account.  There  were  farmers  on  rough  and  unkempt  horses 
which  had  rested  from  the  furrow  yesterday  that  the  master 
might  "go  a-hunting  to-day."  Beside  them  rode  lords  and 
ladies,  squires  and  gentlemen,  their  mounts,  like  themselves, 
well  groomed,  showing  their  "quality"  in  good  blood  and  good 
breeding.  There  were  also  a  good  number  of  farmers'  sons 
mounted  on  "green  ones"  that  morning  "caught  up"  from  the 
fields.  Their  rusty  saddle-irons  and  cnbliled  bridles  made  them 
a  great  contrast  to  some  London  swell  on  his  five  hundred 
guinea  hunter,  with  a  liveried  groom  in  attendance,  both  dressed 


194       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

after  the  latest  hunting  fashion-plate.  They  made  two  of  a 
kind,  the  farmer's  son  and  the  swell,  in  that  they  were  both 
equally  anxious  to  display  themselves.  It  was  not  difficult, 
however,  to  see  that  the  farmer's  son  was  enjoying  it  all  far 
the  better  of  the  two.  Then  there  was  pointed  out  to  me  the 
town  magistrate,  who  was  never  known  to  want  an  excuse  to 
adjourn  court  when  the  Devon  and  Somerset  staghounds  were 
hunting  the  Quantocks;  and  there  was  also  a  physician  who 
had  driven  to  the  meet,  making  a  few  hurried  calls  on  the  way. 
At  the  meet  he  exchanged  liis  carriage  for  a  hunter  and  away 
he  rode,  leaving  his  patients  who  did  not  happen  to  "live  on  the 
way"  to  die,  or  get  well  as  best  they  could  without  liim,  for  as 
the  old  song  says,  "he  must  go  a-hunting  to-day!" 

There  was  also  the  clergyman  in  his  clerical  dress,  the 
"sporting  parson,"  as  he  is  familiarly  called — more  by  way  of 
compUment  than  otherwise.  Few,  I  imagine,  find  more 
pleasure  in  hunting  than  he;  for  next  to  the  Master  and  the 
huntsman,  he  is  the  most  welcome  member  of  the  hunt.  He 
knows  everyone  and  everyone  knows  him,  and  everyone  loves 
him,  especially  if  (as  is  invariably  the  case)  he  is  a  "good  sport," 
rides  well  and  rides  straight.  Even  if  you  do  not  know  liim, 
you  must  love  him.  The  sight  of  him  in  his  clerical  suit, 
seated  on  a  well  appointed  hunter,  makes  you  feel  that  he  is 
your  fellow  man,  capable  of  enjoying  what  you  enjoy,  and  of 
being  tempted  as  you  are  tempted;  tliis  draws  you  towards 
him,  for  you  feel  that  he  is  better  fitted  thereby  to  intercede 
for  your  own  shortcomings.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  him  riding 
about  among  friends  and  neighbours,  seated  on  his  trusty 
hunter,  the  present  probably  of  Lord  So-and-so,  who  admires 
his  style  of  riding  to  hounds,  if  he  does  not  patronise  liis  ser- 
mons, and  who  for  the  same  reason  contributes  hberally  to  the 
church  subscriptions. 

Long  Uve  the  "sporting  parson"  to  show  us  the  way  across 
the  fields  when  hounds  run  fastest,  and  across  Jordan  as  well 


The  Cha.sc  of  the  Wild  lied  Deer  in  Devonshire    195 

when  the  way  looks  hopeless!  Of  course,  in  America  no  one 
would  tliink  of  applying  the  epithet  "good  sport"  to  a  minister 
of  the  gospel,  by  way  of  praise.  But  in  England  the  term 
seems  to  have  a  different  meaning  from  that  given  it  by  us. 
There  it  is  generally  a])i)lied  to  one  who  is,  as  we  say,  "fair 
and  square,"  who  plays  fair,  whether  at  cricket  or  in  business; 
stands  by  a  bad  bargain,  though  the  law  might  release  him; 
one  who  hves  up  to  the  golden  rule.  In  short,  who  is,  in  the 
best  sense  of  the  word,  a  gentleman. 

Others  drove  to  the  meet  in  coaches,  with  powdered  foot- 
men, while  smartly  dressed  servants  brought  up  a  brace  of 
hunters;  others  came  in  farm  carts,  butchers'  wagons  and  traps 
of  all  sorts — to  say  nothing  of  the  pedestrians,  clad  in  all  styles, 
from  homespun  to  the  latest  Paris  wrinkle  in  hat  and  frock, 
all  making  a  pilgrimage  to  "Triscombe  stone"  to  pay  their 
respects  to,  if  not  to  worshij),  the  goddess  Diana,  who  nowhere, 
I  believe,  finds  more  devoted  followers  than  when  she  sets  up 
her  shrine  in  the  Quantocks.  What  a  grand  procession  they 
made,  struggling  along  uj)  the  steep  hill!  Among  the  throng 
was  a  single  Yankee  who,  from  his  desire  to  keep  shaking 
hands  with  himself  over  his  good  fortune  at  being  present, 
you  could  see  with  half  an  eye  was  having  the  best  time  of 
all. 

Arriving  at  the  meet,  we  rode  up  to  inspect  the  hounds — 
twenty-two  and  a  half  cou])le,  all  over  twenty-three  inches  tall 
and  with  untarnished  pedigrees,  traceable,  it  is  said,  for  several 
hundred  years.  They  are,  without  question,  the  most  noted 
pack  of  staghounds  in  England,  and  the  only  pack  in  England 
"ridden  to"  in  the  chase  of  the  wild  red  deer.* 

The  huntsman,  ]\Ir.  Anthony  Huxtable,  is  probably  the 
most  celebrated  huntsman  in  Great  Britain  to-day.     Punc- 

*Since  tlie  above  was  written,  the  deer  in  Devon  and  Somerset  have 
increased  to  such  numbers  that  the  country  has  been  divided  and  is  now- 
being  hunted  by  two  other  packs  of  staghounds. 


196       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

tually  to  the  minute,  at  11  a.  m.,  the  Master  rides  up.  He  has 
a  word  with  Anthony,  then  after  allowing  five  minutes'  grace 
for  late-comers,  he  gives  the  signal  to  kennel  the  pack.  This 
Anthony  does  in  an  old  barn  near  at  hand,  at  the  same  time 
drafting  from  the  pack  six  of  the  most  obedient  hounds,  with 
which  he  returns  to  the  place  of  meeting.  The  Master  then 
sounds  the  horn  for  "going  to  covert"  and  we  all  move  on  at  a 
smart  trot,  headed  by  Anthony  and  the  three  couple  of  hounds. 
These  selected  hounds  are  called  "tufters."  The  reason  for 
taking  only  a  few  hounds  to  draw  a  covert  is  that  the  deer  are 
so  numerous  that  the  whole  pack  would  be  uncontrollable, 
especially  as  it  is  only  the  hinds  they  wish  to  chase  at  this  time 
of  the  year  (spring),  while  in  the  autumn  only  the  stags  are 
hunted. 

The  tops  of  the  Quantock  Hills  are  bald  of  timber,  but 
completely  covered  with  heather — a  bush  groAving  from  fifteen 
to  twenty  inches  high.  There  are,  however,  numerous  wooded 
ravines  leading  up  the  sides  of  the  hills  from  dense  forests.  It 
is  near  the  top  of  these  ravines  that  the  deer  are  at  this  time  of 
day  expected  to  be  found.  After  riding  along  on  the  crest  of 
the  hills  for  half  a  mile  or  more,  Anthony  turns  sharply  to  the 
left,  and  alone  with  the  tufters  canters  down  the  side  of  the 
liill,  and  presently  enters  one  of  these  wooded  ravines;  then 
he  comes  back  up  the  ravine,  so  as  to  make  the  deer  "break 
covert"  over  the  top  of  the  hills.  All  the  riders  and  pedestrians, 
who  have  come  along  to  see  the  sport,  wait  on  the  summit  of 
the  hill  in  the  opening. 

Five  minutes  later,  out  of  the  top  of  the  ravine,  into  wliich 
Anthony  has  cast  the  tufters,  there  come  bounding  over  the 
heather  eight  beautiful  deer,  three  stags  and  five  hinds,  all  in 
full  view;  in  fact,  some  of  the  startled  creatures  find  them- 
selves right  among  the  riders  and  spectators.  Hard  after 
them  come  the  tufters,  and  Anthony  with  them.  Quickly  he 
notes  the  course  the  largest  hind  is  taking,  and  decides  on 


The  Chase  of  the  Wild  lied  Deer  in  Devonshire    197 

her  for  the  chase.  In  the  meantime,  of  course,  the  hounds  are 
separated,  for  there  is  more  than  a  deer  for  each;  hut  a  blast 
from  Anthony's  hunting  horn,  emi)hasised  by  a  crack  of  his 
hunting  crop,  calls  them  to  his  side,  when  he  quickly  "lifts 
them"  on  to  the  line  of  the  deer  he  has  marked  for  the  chase. 

Away  goes  Anthony  as  if  shot  from  a  gun,  while  we  rush 
along  at  the  top  of  our  horses'  speed  only  to  see  him  vanish  from 
sight  a  half  mile  down  the  other  side  of  the  hill  towards  the 
bottom  land.  The  ^Master  and  riders  remain  waiting  on  top  of 
the  hill.  Half  an  hour  passes,  then  some  one  shouts,  "There  he 
is!"  and  turning,  we  see  the  indomitable  Anthony  standing  in 
the  heather  on  the  brow  of  a  distant  hill — the  six  tufters  by  his 
side — and  signalling  us  to  come  on.  The  INIaster  hurries  away 
to  unkennel  the  pack  and  bring  them  on,  while  the  restless 
riders  rush  headlong  down  the  hill,  through  the  heather,  where, 
if  their  mounts  should  stumble  or  catch  a  foot  in  some  of  the 
numerous  rabl)it  burrows,  there  would  be  in  all  probability  a 
broken  leg  for  the  horse  and  a  broken  neck  for  the  rider. 
Do^\'n  tliis  hill,  up  a  steep  ra\'ine,  down  again,  up  another 
hill  and  we  arrive  where  xVnthony  awaits  us.  Soon  the  INIaster 
and  the  whippers-in  with  the  pack,  join  us.  ^Vnthony  now 
leads  the  way  to  the  bottom  lands,  where  he  had  followed  the 
deer  to  make  sure  she  had  well  broken  covert. 

As  soon  as  he  leads  the  pack  across  the  line  and  the  hounds 
catch  the  scent,  they  give  tongue  to  it  in  a  beautiful  chorus  as 
they  crowd  on  the  line  and  race  away  at  the  top  of  their  speed. 
"Tally  ho!  Tally  ho!  Gone  away!  Gone  away!"  shouts 
Anthony,  while  the  INIaster  sounds  the  good  news  from  his 
horn,  and  before  we  know  what  has  happened,  the  chase  is  on. 
Our  horses,  which  we  have  been  saving  as  much  as  jjossible 
(greatly  to  their  disgust),  are  now  given  free  rein,  and  the 
way  they  lay  foot  to  the  sod  over  the  first  few  meadows  will 
never  be  forgotten.  Arriving  at  a  small  stream,  the  hounds 
throw  up  their  heads,  their  music  ceases,  and  we  are  at  the 


198       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

first  check.  The  deer,  true  to  her  instinct,  has  taken  to  water 
to  elude  her  pursuers.  The  stream  is  about  ten  to  twelve 
feet  wide  and  four  to  six  inches  deep. 

Now  comes  Antliony's  opportunity  to  display  his  wood- 
craft. Which  way  has  the  deer  gone?  Up  stream  or  down? 
Noting  the  direction  of  the  wind,  he  instantly  decides  on  going 
down  stream;  and  keeping  in  the  stream  we  follow  along. 
Both  banks  are  eagerly  watched  for  foot-prints. 

The  hounds,  meanwhile,  are  splashing  listlessly  along  beside 
Anthony's  horse.  On  they  go  for  a  few  hundred  yards,  when 
suddenly  one  of  the  hounds  stops,  and  rushes  to  the  left  bank. 
His  hackles  are  on  end  and  he  begins  to  "feather."  Others 
join  liim.  Anthony  halts;  no  tracks;  can  it  be  possible  that 
the  deer  could  have  gone  out  there?  The  hounds  seem  to 
think  so,  but  the  bank  is  perpendicular  and  a  good  five  feet 
liigh,  with  a  thick  thorn  hedge  as  much  higher  growing  on  the 
very  edge  of  it.  Do  the  hounds  mean  to  say  that  even  a  deer 
can  from  a  standing  jump  clear  that  bank  and  hedge?  Still 
Anthony  waits.  Then  come  a  few  faint  whimpers  as  if  the 
hounds  could  almost  make  it  out.  Still  they  are  not  quite 
sure.  Then  Anthony  decides  that  they  are  right  and  cheers 
them  on.  One  hound,  in  attempting  to  jump  up  the  bank  and 
crawl  through  the  bottom  of  the  hedge,  gets  a  whiff  of  the 
scent  from  the  field  on  the  other  side  and  gives  tongue  to  it, 
even  as  he  falls  backward  into  the  water.  Tliis  settles  the 
question ;  and  Anthony,  with  cap  in  hand,  leans  over  his  horse's 
withers,  cheering  on  the  hounds  with  "Speak  to  it.  Sampson! 
On  to  it,  Bluver!    Up,  Sleepless,  up,  good  hound!" 

Sleepless  is  the  first  to  make  the  bank,  which  is  by  this  time 
so  broken  away  that  she  is  able  to  make  good  her  footing,  and 
away  she  goes,  racing  across  the  field,  giving  tongue  at  every 
stride.  The  other  hounds  become  desperate  at  this.  Again 
Anthony  cheers  them  on  with  "Hark  to  Sleepless!  Hark  to 
Sleepless!    On  Challenger!    Up  Vixen!"  until  with  charging 


The  Chase  uf  the  Wild  Red  Deer  in  Devonshire    199 

and  falling  back,  and  charging  again,  a  footing  is  made,  and 
all  have  gone  streaming  away  in  the  field,  which  is  hidden  from 
our  view  by  the  hedge.  The  riders  are  all  held  back  until  the 
last  hound  has  successfully  cleared  the  bank,  and  then  we 
rush  on  to  where  the  highway  crosses  the  stream.  Following 
the  road,  we  come  in  view  of  the  field,  with  the  forty-five 
hounds  scattered  all  over  it.  They  needed  Anthony  to  help 
them  puzzle  it  out.  The  trouble  is,  the  deer  has  evidently 
doubled  her  tracks,  and  possibly  redoubled  them;  hence  the 
confusion:  but  Anthony  riding  into  the  field  brings  order  out 
of  chaos,  and  lifting  the  hounds  smartly  forward,  they  soon  hit 
off  the  same  line  again;  and  we  enjoy  a  glorious  gallop  through 
some  beautiful  pastures  to  another  check. 

Here  we  see  the  hounds  doing  some  beautiful  work;  their 
blood  is  up,  but  they  have  overrun  the  line.  Anthony  calls 
them  to  "hark  back."  They  pick  up  the  trail  where  it  turned 
sharply  to  the  left,  and  away  they  go  through  a  hedge.  It  is 
impossible  for  horses  to  follow,  and  the  hounds  rush  away  with 
a  chorus  of  voices  that  makes  our  hearts  ache.  Perhaps  it  is 
the  last  we  shall  see  of  the  pack  to-day!  We  follow  the  know- 
ing one  in  a  race  for  the  gate  leading  into  the  highway,  in  the 
direction  opposite  the  way  the  hounds  are  running.  Those 
forty  rods  to  the  gate!  It  seemed  as  if  our  horses,  going  at  the 
top  of  their  speed,  would  never  reach  there.  There  is  a  small 
boy  right  at  the  gate,  and  he  opens  it  in  time — may  his  sins 
to  this  hour  be  forgiven! 

Down  the  highway  we  gallop  for  half  a  mile ;  then  stop  and 
listen.  "They  are  still  running  on,"  says  one;  "we  shall  see 
them  no  more  to-day."  "No,  they  are  coming  this  way!"  cries 
another.  "What  shall  we  do?  Where  shall  we  go?"  Such 
are  the  questions  and  thoughts  running  through  everyone's 
mind.  The  old  hunting  rule,  "When  you  don't  know  where 
to  go,  stand  still,"  is  all  that  seems  to  save  us  from  going  mad. 
Suddenly  the  hounds  appear  from  behind  a  field  of  timber 


200       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

that  has  hitherto  hidden  them  from  our  view,  their  voices 
coming  to  us  faintly  now  and  then,  keeping  us  between 
hope  and  despair.  We  see  they  are  racing  away  in  a 
circle  that  is  bringing  them  our  way.  We  rush  along  to  inter- 
cept them.  They  halt,  turn  sharply  to  the  right,  and  are 
coming  straight  for  the  liighway  where  we  stand.  On  and  on 
we  go  for  the  next  thirty  minutes,  till  the  hounds  throw  their 
heads  in  a  farmyard;  and  a  most  welcome  check  it  is.  "Seven 
miles  from  the  last  check  and  covered  in  thirty-three  minutes," 
says  some  one,  consulting  his  watch.  But  while  we  are  about 
to  dismount  for  a  breathing  spell,  the  hounds  break  away  at  a 
rattling  pace  for  another  five  minutes.  It  seems  as  if  every 
field  must  be  the  last,  and  that  the  hounds  must  be  on  the  very 
heels  of  their  prey.  Check  again!  It  does  not  seem  possible 
that  many  more  such  spurts  can  be  left  in  deer,  hound,  horse, 
or  man.  The  deer  is  evidently  maldng  for  the  sea,  but  until 
this  check  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  never  hold  the  pace  to  reach 
there. 

While  waiting  in  the  liighway,  beyond  a  farmhouse,  the 
hounds  pick  up  the  trail  again,  and  come  across  the  road  in 
front  of  us  "full  cry."  It  seems  impossible  that  the  deer  could 
have  taken  that  line,  but  so  it  must  have  been.  Where  the 
hounds  came  through  the  bottom  of  the  hedge,  the  bank  is 
fully  eight  feet  high;  on  the  top  of  this  bank  is  a  stiff  hedge 
twelve  to  fifteen  feet  high.  That  a  deer  could  jump  the  hedge 
from  the  field  side,  we  have  no  doubt,  but  think  of  the  drop  on 
the  landing  side,  and  of  landing  in  the  middle  of  a  macadamised 
road!  One  would  think  the  slender  legs  of  the  deer  could 
never  withstand  such  a  shock;  but  they  have  withstood  it,  for 
the  hounds  are  running  again,  not  to  the  sea,  as  we  expected, 
but  to  the  right,  following  the  coast,  two  or  three  fields  back 
from  the  beach.  On  she  goes  for  another  eight  miles,  almost 
straight  away  over  beautiful  level  grass  lands.  At  last  the 
hounds  are  but  a  field  behind  their  game,  and  the  riders — 


The  Cha.se  of  the  Wild  lied  Deer  in  Devonshire    201 

what  is  left  of  them — but  a  field  behind  the  hounds  and  in 
full  view  of  the  deer.  The  deer  is  running  slower  and  is 
apparently  almost  exhausted.  The  hounds  also  are  slackening 
their  pace,  while  there  is  nothing  left  of  the  horses,  save  their 
breeding.  They  stagger  on,  however,  but  are  no  longer  able  to 
answer  to  whip  or  spur. 

One  more  field!  It  looks  as  if  the  hounds  would  overtake 
their  deer  in  the  next  field.  The  foremost  hounds  are  scarcely 
a  rod  from  their  prize.  Anthony  is  right  after  them,  cheer- 
ing them  on  to  the  last  mighty  effort.  Can  the  hind  reach  the 
river  bank?  Yes!  With  Anthony's  favourite  hound,  Sleej)less, 
right  at  her  heels,  she  leaps  into  the  river  twenty  feet  below, 
and  swims  for  the  opposite  bank.  The  hounds  attempt  to 
follow,  but  Anthony  calls  them  back. 

Taldng  a  fisherman's  row  boat  Anthony  with  the  "whipper- 
in"  and  three  hounds,  rowed  across  the  river.  The  steep, 
muddy  sandbanks  being  impassable,  the  deer,  seeing  them 
coming,  takes  to  the  water  again.  The  boat,  however,  soon 
overtakes  her,  and  a  rope  is  thrown  over  tlie  head  of  the  deer, 
which  keeps  on  swimming,  towing  the  boat  along  with  her. 
They  pull  the  boat  alongside,  and  Anthony  blindfolds  the 
deer  with  his  handkerchief.  The  three  men  now  tij)  the  boat 
to  one  side,  and  all  taking  hold  of  the  deer  lift  her  as  high  as 
possible,  bringing  her  sides  well  up  against  the  gunwale  of  the 
boat;  then,  rocking  the  boat  back,  at  the  same  time  lifting  the 
deer,  they  land  her  on  her  back  in  the  boat;  next  they  tie  her 
legs  and  bring  her  ashore,  where  she  is  despatchd  with  a  hunt- 
ing knife;  the  "pluck"  given  to  the  hounds,  and  the  feet  ampu- 
tated at  the  fetlock  joint  and  given  to  whomsoever  the  Master 
wishes  to  honour.  The  carcass  is  given  to  a  butcher  or  some 
one  who  is  directed  ])y  the  Master  to  distribute  it  among  the 
farmers  over  whose  land  the  chase  has  gone.  The  head,  how- 
ever, is  presented  to  the  writer,  who  has  it  mounted  and  now 
admires  it  on  the  wall  facing  his  writing  desk.    It  was  the  end 


202       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

of  the  spring  season  and  this  was  deer  number  one  hundred  and 
one  taken  since  the  previous  autumn. 

The  time  occupied  by  the  run  after  laying  on  the  pack  was 
two  hours  and  forty  minutes.  It  was  four-thirty  when  we 
started  for  Mr.  Skinner's,  twenty  miles  away.  We  arrived 
there  at  nine  o'clock.  We  had  been  in  the  saddle  eleven  and 
one-half  hours  (less  the  time  spent  while  Anthony  was  taking 
the  hind  from  the  water)  and  had  covered  fully  fifty  miles 
without  a  mouthful  to  eat  for  man  or  mount.  The  grey  could 
only  walk  for  the  last  three  miles.  The  rider  was  able  to  get 
into  the  house,  but  there  was  not  enough  left  in  him  to  pull 
off  his  own  boots.  But  a  bucket  of  hot  oat-meal  gruel  for 
the  horse,  a  hot  bath  and  Mrs.  Skinner's  softest  feather  bed 
for  the  rider,  brought  both  out  the  next  morning  none  the 
worse,  I  beheve,  for  as  glorious  a  day's  sport  as  ever  was 
enjoyed  in  the  hunting  field. 


To  W.  Phillpotts  Williams,  Esq., 

Master  of  the  Melton  Harriers. 

"The  puzzling  pack  unravel  wile  by  ivile, 
Maze  rcithin  vinze,  the  Covert's  utmost  hounds. 
Slijly  she  skirts  behind,  then  cautious  creeps, 
yind  in  that  vcrji  track  so  latel//  stained 
By  all  the  steaming  crowd,  seems  to  pursue 
The  foe  she  jlics." 

Somervile. 

XVIII 

THE  CHASE  OF  THE  HARE 

THE   HARE — THE  OLD   AND   THE   NEW   SCHOOL   METHODS — LONG 
LIVE  THE  CHASE — FOOT  HARRIERS. 

■p  ERHAPS  the  best  way  to  introduce  the  subject  of  Hare 
■■•  Hunting-  is  first  to  introduce  the  hare.  There  is  a  saying 
among  hare  hunting  men  at  the  present  time,  wliich  was  cen- 
turies old  when  the  morning  stars  sang  together,  "Find  your 
hare  before  you  catch  liim."  In  respect,  therefore,  to  tliis 
time-honoured  maxim,  if  for  no  other  reason,  we  had  better 
see  our  hare  before  we  proceed  to  hunt  him. 

As  before  stated,  the  hare  differs  from  the  rabbit,  which  he 
greatly  resembles,  in  being  larger  and  faster.  Rabbits  burrow 
in  the  ground,  where  they  go  to  hide,  sleep,  and  bring  forth 
their  young.  The  hare,  on  the  contrar>%  does  not  burrow, 
never  goes  to  earth,  and  hides  and  sleeps  in  the  open  fields. 
Their  food,  habits,  and  way  of  running  are  quite  the  same. 

The  hare  is  born  with  a  coat  of  fur,  and  eyes  open.     The 


204        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

rabbit  comes  into  the  world  naked  and  blind,  a  provision  of 
nature  that  best  adapts  each  to  the  different  conditions  under 
wliich  it  is  born.  If  the  rabbit  could  see  at  birth,  it  would 
wander  from  home  before  it  was  able  to  protect  itself  by  flight 
from  its  hosts  of  enemies.  The  hare,  on  the  contrary,  being 
born  in  the  open  would  alike  fall  an  easy  prey  to  its  enemies 
if  it  made  a  move  in  their  presence.  They  breed  two  or  three 
times  a  year  between  April  and  August,  and  produce  from 
two  to  four  "larvet"  at  a  time.  They  feed  at  evening  and  in 
the  early  morning,  wliile  during  the  day  they  he  flattened  out 
in  their  "seal"  or  "form"  in  the  open  field,  rather  than  in  a 
hedgerow  or  brush-heap,  where  without  a  burrow  they  would 
easily  be  tracked  and  overtaken  by  foxes,  weasels,  skunks,  etc., 
who  seek  their  prey  in  hidden  and  secluded  spots.  Like  the 
thieves  that  they  are,  foxes  and  the  like  have  no  taste  for 
exposing  themselves  by  travelling  through  open  fields.  Experi- 
ence therefore  has  taught  the  hare  that  his  safety  lies  in  sleep- 
ing for  the  day  in  the  open  fields  where  his  body  is  most 
exposed.  A  wise  pro\asion  of  nature,  however,  comes  to  his 
rescue,  by  giving  him  a  reddish  brown  coat  that  seems  to 
blend  so  well  with  every  colour  of  the  field  as  to  nearly  defy 
detection  even  when  one's  eyes  are  resting  upon  him.  "Find 
your  hare  before  you  catch  him"  has  a  far  wider  meaning  than 
one  might  suppose. 

The  ability  of  some  persons  to  locate  a  hare  is  either  a 
gift  or  the  cultivation  of  sight,  or  possibly  the  development 
of  the  real  hunting  instinct  such  as  our  forefathers  possessed, 
and  which  we  still  find  so  highly  developed  in  our  native 
trappers  and  in  Indians  who  are  born  to  and  live  by  the  chase. 

Anyone,  therefore,  who  is  good  at  finding  hares  is  a  most 
welcome  attache  to  any  hare  hunting  organisation.  Such  a 
one  is  scarce,  even  in  England,  where  hunting  the  hare  is  in 
general  practice,  and  he  is  in  great  demand.  Frightening  up 
a  hare  by  walking  upon  her  is  not  finding  her. 


The  Chase  of  the  Hare  205 

The  writer  prides  himself  somewhat  on  having  a  fairly- 
good  eye  for  game  in  the  forest,  but  he  has  never  yet  been 
able  to  find  a  hare,  although  he  has  hunted  them  often,  both 
with  hounds  and  gun. 

It  makes  one  feel  chagrined  to  have  some  friend  point  one 
out  just  where  you  have  been  looking,  or  as  usual,  tell  you 
where  to  look  without  pointing,  and  to  see  there,  within  a  few 
paces,  in  full  vieAv,  the  object  you  seek.  There  she  hes— every 
hair  lying  so  snu»  and  close  that  not  one  is  moved  by  a  passing 
breeze,  not  a  wink  of  the  eye  or  a  turn  of  the  head  or  the  lifting 
of  an  eyebrow.  As  you  study  the  object  for  a  momcjit,  the 
deception  its  colour  practises  on  the  eyesight  disappears,  and 
you  wonder  why  you  did  not  see  her  before.  Your  retriever 
has  gone  carefully  over  the  ground,  and  he  with  all  his 
keener  sense  of  nose  and  sight  also  failed  to  see  what  in  all 
probability  he  had  been  looking  at.  Presently  she  bounds 
away,  and  you  must  be  smart  even  then  with  your  gun,  or 
your  game  keeps  on  running. 

It  is  probably  much  more  to  your  credit  to  find  your  hare 
than  it  is  to  stop  him  with  your  gun  when  lie  is  found. 

The  care  a  hare  takes  in  coming  up  to  its  "form"  or  place 
selected  for  the  day's  resting  place  (which  form  we  are  told 
is  seldom  occupied  for  more  than  two  or  three  days  in  suc- 
cession) is  most  ingenious.  Instead  of  coming  straight  up 
to  it,  they  begin  to  circle  and  double  back  on  their  trail,  so 
as  to  make  confusion  worse  confounded  to  an  enemj'^  attempt- 
ing to  follow  them  by  scent.  Then  they  will  halt  and  give  a  tre- 
mendous spring  to  the  right  or  left,  so  that  to  their  pursuers 
their  line  comes  to  an  abrupt  ending;  and  so  on  by  a  succession 
of  leaps  until  they  finally  land  in  the  chosen  spot  in  an  open 
field,  or  at  most  in  the  shadow  of  a  low  growing  shrub.  They 
are  said  to  sleep  with  their  eyes  open,  but  while  you  can  nearly 
step  on  them  before  they  vnW  expose  themselves  by  moving, 
when  they  do  flee  from  their  form,  they  go  at  a  rate  of  speed  that 


206       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

only  the  fastest  greyhounds  can  approach.  They  can  probably 
run  two  rods  to  a  rabbit's  one.  Comparing  the  English  hare 
to  the  Jack  rabbit  of  the  western  plains,  it  is  hardly  too  much 
to  say  that  the  latter  is  as  much  faster  than  the  Enghsh  hare 
as  the  hare  is  faster  than  the  ordinary  rabbit. 

Crafty  and  evasive  as  hares  are  in  coming  to  their  form,  the 
tricks  they  play  on  the  hounds  are  the  most  interesting  part  of 
the  game.  Brayden,  in  his  delightful  work  "Hare  Hunting 
and  Harriers,"  says  "The  maze  they  weave  in  foiling  their  hne 
is  something  astonishing." 

"True  sport,"  says  the  same  author,  "consists  in  the  meet- 
ing of  the  hounds  and  the  game  hunted  on  nature's  own  terms 
in  a  free  field,  with  no  favours."  A  better  definition  of  true 
sport  never  was  given. 

The  Avriter  is  particularly  indebted  to  that  Sportsman 
Poet,  ]Mr.  Phillpotts  '^Vilhams,  former  Master  of  the  Melton 
Harriers,  for  several  "glorious  days"  as  well  as  much  valuable 
information  in  regard  to  the  chase  of  the  hare. 

All  hare  hunting  men,  as  we  said  in  the  chapter  on  Jack 
rabbit  hunting  on  the  plains,  point  with  pride  to  ancient  liistory 
dating  from  three  hundred  and  fifty  to  one  thousand  years 
B.  C,  to  prove  the  remote  date,  if  not  the  beginning,  of  hare 
hunting. 

Coursing  men  go  to  the  same  goal  in  the  ancient  records 
for  the  starting  point  of  their  favourite  sport. 

Hare  hunting  in  England  goes  back  to  an  early  period  of 
Enghsh  history — to  Edward  III,  Queen  Ehzabeth,  James  I, 
and  so  on  down  to  the  present  time. 

Fox  hunting  is  only  a  modern  game  in  England  as  com- 
pared with  hunting  the  hare.  Fox  hunting  was  not  known,  in 
its  present  form  at  least,  until  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  when  scarcity  of  deer,  wolf,  and  wild  boar,  caused 
the  chase-loving  Briton  to  turn  his  attention  to  the  fox. 
Although  previously  looked  upon  as  vermin,  to  be  killed  in 


The  Chase  of  the  Ilarc  207 

any  and  every  form,  the  fox  proved,  however,  to  show  such 
good  sport,  that,  for  the  tmie  at  least,  it  quite  turned  the  heads 
of  all  the  followers  of  the  chase.  Hare  hunting  was  severely 
affected  hy  this  invasion,  which  swept  the  country  after  the 
fashion  of  all  new  brooms. 

Hare  hunting,  however,  had  been  in  existence  too  long  to 
give  way  entirely  to  the  new  order  of  things.  It  has  not  only 
survived,  but  comes  up  with  a  stronger  army  of  supporters 
at  the  present  time  than  it  had  even  in  its  most  palmy  days. 
There  is  more  dash  and  drive  and  hard  riding  to  foxhounds. 
But  the  sportsman  whose  hunting  instincts  outweigh  his  taste 
for  fast  riding,  enjoys  best  of  all  to  see  a  hard  working,  melo- 
dious pack  of  harriers  ciphering  on  a  problem  that  is  as  frac- 
tions to  addition,  compared  with  the  task  that  Reynard  puts 
up  as  a  puzzle  to  foxhounds. 

Hare  hunting  in  England  may  be  said  to  be  conducted  by 
two  different  schools. 

First,  the  "old  school"  practitioners  who  seek  to  preserve 
the  more  ancient  customs  and  traditions  of  hare  hunting,  and 
stick  to  the  so-called  "pure-bred  English  harriers,"  a  rather 
slow  and  laborious  hound  with  a  splendid  nose,  a  free  tongue, 
and  a  most  melodious  voice.  ( I  beheve  this  hound  was  origin- 
ally a  cross-bred  animal  between  the  Southern  hound  and  the 
beagle,  the  Southern  hound  liimself  being  an  extraction  of  the 
bloodhound.)  Harriers  hunt  up  to  their  game  in  a  methodical 
and  workmanlike  manner.  If  they  account  for  one,  or  at  the 
most,  two  hares  for  a  day's  sport,  it  is  all  that  is  required. 

The  old  school  followers  of  the  chase  of  puss  say  that  to 
kill  a  hare  in  less  than  about  an  hour  is  taking  undue  advan- 
tage, and  a  pack  of  hounds  that  does  this  should  be  reduced 
in  size.  The  old  English  harrier,  therefore,  is  greatly  in  favour 
with  this  school,  which  claims  that  the  true  gosjjcl  of  hare  hunt- 
ing is  to  enable  the  game  to  work  all  her  shifts  and  arts  at  dodg- 
ing and  circling  and  doubling.    These  hounds  are  from  twelve 


208       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

to  fifteen  inches — larger  or  smaller — according  to  the  country 
to  be  hunted  over;  the  speed  of  the  hounds  depending  some- 
what on  their  size.  Fifteen  or  even  eighteen  inch  harriers 
might  be  no  faster  in  a  country  where  there  was  much  land 
under  cultivation  than  twelve  inch  harriers  in  a  level  pasture 
and  meadow  country. 

The  hounds  of  the  new  school  are  much  faster.  They  are 
mostly  cross-bred  dogs  between  harriers  and  foxhounds,  where- 
in the  harrier  blood  is  retained  for  its  more  melodious  voice 
and  freedom  of  tongue,  while  the  foxhound  blood  is  looked  to 
for  greater  pace.  These  hounds  range  from  fifteen  to  sixteen 
inches. 

Then  again  there  is  what  might  be  called  the  High  Church 
branch  of  the  new  school,  where  the  hounds  are  out  and 
out  pure-bred  foxhounds — undersized  drafts  from  foxhound 
packs.  These  hounds  being  so  much  faster  than  the  old 
Enghsh  harriers,  put  their  game  to  flight,  and  as  the  old  school 
hunters  say,  race  her  to  death  in  a  run  of  fifteen  to  twenty 
minutes  without  giving  her  a  chance  to  practise  her  arts  of 
self-preservation.  Then  they  go  on  killing  as  many  more  as 
they  can  in  a  day.  This  the  old  school  denounces  as  taking 
an  undue  advantage  of  puss,  and  can  not  be  looked  upon  as 
thoroughly  sportsmanlike.  Hounds  for  tliis  class  of  hunting 
we  believe  are  from  eighteen  to  twenty-two  inches. 

It  has  been  the  writer's  good  fortune  to  study  the  game 
from  the  standpoint  of  both  the  old  school  and  the  new,  and 
he  unhesitatingly  casts  his  lot  A\ith  the  former.  Although 
no  one  enjoys  a  smart  gallop  cross  country  better,  he  loves 
best  of  all  the  hunting  part  of  the  game. 

To  sit  a  nicely  mannered  horse,  or  stout  pony  with  a  bit  of 
a  gallop  in  him,  with  a  fcAV  jumps  to  negotiate  now  and  again, 
to  keep  in  the  same  field  A\nth  the  chase  and  to  watch  both  the 
pursued  and  the  pursuers,  to  be  in  possession  of  the  tricks  puss 
is  plaj-ing  on  the  hounds,  and  the  secret  of  her  liiding  place,  to 


The  Chase  of  the  Hare  209 

watch  the  hounds  unravel  her  hne,  see  them  outgenerallcd  here 
and  fooled  there,  as  tiie  artl'ul  <^ame  intended  they  should  be — 
is,  to  the  writer's  mind,  one  of  the  most  faseinating  games  that 
can  possibly  be  seen  in  any  form  of  the  chase  against  any 
animal  that  lives. 

Game  and  hound  meet  on  fair  and  equal  terms,  for  in  the 
old  school  practice,  no  one  thinks  of  giving  away  the  secrets 
of  puss  to  the  hounds,  but  leaves  them  quite  to  themselves  as 
long  as  they  Mill  hunt.  Lifting  hounds  to  a  view  may  be  jus- 
tified towards  the  end  of  a  long  day  with  foot  beagles  or  foot 
harriers. 

To  lift  hounds  on,  and  keep  racing  a  hare  until  overtaken 
by  speed,  seems  to  the  writer  to  be  neither  hunting  nor  cours- 
ing, but  a  cross-bred  or  mongrel  sport  between  the  two. 

Of  course,  with  the  old  school  there  is  not  much  chance  of 
a  gallop  of  any  length,  for  the  constant  circling  and  doubling 
of  the  hare  often  brings  the  game  to  an  end  in  the  same  field 
where  it  began;  so  that  a  man  on  a  stout  cob  that  can  go  a 
good  pace,  is  able  to  see  much  more  of  the  game  than  the 
best  mounted  rider  to  foxhounds.  The  writer  by  no  means 
wishes  to  impeach  from  the  list  of  true  sportsmen  all  hare 
hunters  of  the  riding  class.  Their  salvation  comes  not  from 
the  methods  they  pursue  so  much  as  the  results. 

Fast  harriers — hke  fast  foxhounds  after  fox — although  they 
often  have  a  kill  in  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  lose  so  many 
hares  for  the  very  reason  they  are  so  fast,  that  they  cannot 
be  called  butchers,  as  some  are  inclined  to  say  they  are.  Never- 
theless, racing  a  hare  to  death  is  not  hunting.  The  writer 
believes  too  much  of  the  spirit  of  the  chase  is  sacrificed  in  these 
days  to  pace. 

The  object  of  the  chase  in  these  latter  daj'S  is  not  to  kill 
hares  and  foxes  so  much  as  it  is  to  preserve  the  time  honoured 
customs  and  conditions  of  the  chase  as  they  have  been  handed 
down  to  us  from  our  forefathers.     Its  most  laudable  object  is 


210       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

to  preserve  untarnished  the  highest  ideals  of  true  sport  and 
sportsmansliip. 

An  advantage  of  hare  hunting  is  that  it  is  not  nearly  so 
expensive  a  luxury  as  foxhunting,  and  is  particularly  enjoyable 
for  men  past  the  prime  of  life,  who  no  longer  delight  in  the 
more  rigorous  adventures  of  the  chase  of  the  fox.  In  other 
words,  it  lets  us  down  to  our  graves  more  gently,  and  is  thus 
well  adapted  to  the  latter  stage  of  a  sportsman's  career  in  the 
saddle. 

"As  a  lad  he  hunts  with  foot  beagles. 

As  a  boy  with  otterhounds, 

As  a  young  man  with  the  harriers. 

Then  to  foxhunting  he  may  turn  in  the  days  of  his  highest 
ambition  and  bodily  vigour. 

Afterwards  to  enjoy  the  downward  slope  of  life,  still  out- 
riding death  in  the  saddle,  in  the  chase  of  the  hare." 

Long  live  the  Chase! 

There  is  another  system  of  hare  hunting,  i.  e.,  foot  harriers 
— which  the  High  Churchmen,  so  to  speak,  of  the  old  school, 
claim  is  the  only  way  to  hunt  a  hare.  Hounds  for  this  pur- 
pose are  of  course  still  smaller  or  at  least  slower  than  the  old 
English  harriers.  They  are  usually  a  cross  between  a  harrier 
and  a  beagle,  from  say  fifteen  to  eighteen  inches. 

There  are  some  popular  packs  of  these  foot  harriers  in  Eng- 
land. It  is  believed  to  be  the  most  ancient  form  of  the  chase 
of  the  hare.  There  are  some  very  old  packs  of  foot  harriers, 
especially  in  East  Sussex,  says  H.  A.  Brayden,  in  his  charm- 
ing work,  "Hare  Hunting  and  Harriers." 

"A  man  must  be  an  exceedingly  good  pedestrian,  and  in 
the  very  best  of  trim,  to  keep  within  hail  of  a  pack  of  hounds 
standing  eighteen  or  nineteen  inches  in  height,  and  blessed  with 
plenty  of  pace."  He  says  the  packs  of  foot  harriers  in  Great 
Britain  "do  not  number  more  than  a  dozen." 


The  Chase  of  the  Hare  211 

"There  are,"  says  the  same  authority,  "one  hundred  and 
ninety-eight  packs  of  harriers  in  the  United  Kingdom,  some 
fifty  odd  paclvs  of  foot  beagles,  which  in  round  nuinl)crs  make 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  packs,  mostly  in  England,  besides 
a  large  number  of  i)rivate  packs  which  would  probably  swell 
the  number  to  three  hundred  or  more." 

It  is  not  the  purpose  of  these  chapters  to  go  into  the  scien- 
tific part  of  hare  hunting,  nor  to  pursue  the  subject  further 
than  might  interest  the  general  reader,  and  give  an  idea  of  the 
character  and  status  of  the  game,  wliich  «ill  no  doubt  be  of 
interest  to  most  American  sportsmen. 

The  writer's  wish  to  see  the  sport  more  generally  ado})ted 
in  America  leads  him  to  devote  another  chapter  to  the  subject, 
especially  hare  hunting  with  foot  beagles  at  school  and  col- 
lege, which  is  the  best  way  of  all  to  bring  up  a  boy  in  the  way 
he  should  go,  to  become  a  thorough  sportsman. 


"Happ^/  the  mam  who  with  unusual  speed. 
Can  pass  his  feUotcs  and  tcitlt  pleasure  view 
The  sfruf/f/liiif/  pack:  //oti'  in   the  rapid  course 
Alternated  then  preside,  and  jostlij,  push 
To  guide  the  dubious  scent." 

Somervile. 

XIX 

FOOT  BEAGLES 

SCHOOL  AND  COLLEGE  FOOT  BEAGLES — THE  DELAPRE  HALL 
BEAGLES — A  DAY  WITH  AN  OXFORD  COLLEGE  '^'^CRY"" — COM- 
PARISON OF  ENGLISH  AND  AMERICAN  COLLEGE  SPORTS. 

HUNTING  the  hare  on  foot  with  beagles  has  always  been 
in  great  favour  in  Great  Britain.  Beagle  hounds  are 
generally  admitted  to  be  a  very  ancient  race  of  dogs,  wliich 
the  writer  believes  are  of  French  origin. 

The  foot  beagles  of  Great  Britain  are  largely  owned  in 
private  packs  and  hunted  as  such,  or  in  company  with  neigh- 
bouring beagles  brought  together  for  a  day's  sport. 

A  pack  or  "Cry"  of  foot  beagles  is  about  the  best  school- 
ing a  boy  can  have  as  a  primary  training  to  the  science  of  hunt- 
ing with  otter,  fox  or  staghounds. 

Many  a  keen  sportsman  of  a  father  has  a  pack  of  beagles 
for  his  sons  and  daughters  to  hunt  with  and  he  encourages 
them  in  it  from  the  time  they  can  run  about.  Before  that 
they  go  out  to  see  the  fun  from  a  baby  carriage  or  in  the  arms 
of  a  sturdy  English  nurse  or  governess. 

There  are  also  a  few  packs  of  Basset  hounds  there,  that 


Foot  li eagles  213 

are  used  in  hunting  the  hare,  l)ut  they  are  not,  as  a  rule,  satis- 
factory, being  too  slow. 

The  Messrs.  Cooper  Bros.,  of  Dehipre  Hall,  Nottingham, 
formerly  had  a  pack  of  Basset  hounds.  The  writer  had  a  day's, 
or  rather  part  of  a  day's  sport  wth  this  silver-tongued  pack; 
they  were  very  pretty  and  worked  away  on  the  line  with  great 
spirit  and  drive.  Slow  as  they  were,  they  gave  the  writer  liis 
fill  of  it  before  the  day  was  half  over  and  settled  his  convic- 
tions that  he  was  no  longer  a  boy,  even  if  he  did  feel  that  way 
when  he  started  out  with  thirty-five  or  forty  young  men  and 
maidens  for  a  daj^  wth  these  hounds. 

JNIr.  Cooper  has  since  written  to  say  he  has  "given  up 
Bassets  and  has  now  a  fine  pack  of  seventeen  couple  of  thir- 
teen and  a  half  inch  beagles,  which  are  giving  great  sport." 
The  elder  brother  carries  the  horn  wliile  the  two  j'ounger 
brothers  are  his  whippers-in.  These  young  men,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  servant,  look  after  the  kennel  management  of 
their  pack. 

Although,  as  intimated  above,  the  writer  had  arrived  at 
an  age  when  following  puss  on  foot  is  prohibited,  he  thinks 
it  glorious  sport  and  one  that  ought  to  be  encouraged  in  every 
countr)'  school  or  college,  where  there  are  hares  within  reach. 

Some  American  schools  and  colleges  have  cross  country 
teams,  but  these  are  for  amateur  sprinters.  Paper  chases 
have  had  a  rage  here  and  there  and,  in  lieu  of  nothing  better, 
should  be  encouraged,  but  the  principal  element  of  success, 
i.  e.,  miflagging  interest,  which  is  wanting  in  these  games,  is 
abundantly  supplied  when  out  with  a  real  pack  of  beagles  in 
the  chase  of  a  real  hare. 

]Many  of  the  schools  of  England,  like  Eton,  and  the  col- 
leges, as  at  Cambridge  and  Oxford,  have  packs  of  foot  beagles. 

In  fact,  there  are  three  packs  of  foot  beagles  among  the 
colleges  at  Oxford,  i.  e.,  Christ  Church,  Exeter,  New  College 
and  Magdalene. 


214       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

The  writer  not  having  had  the  personal  experience,  begs  to 
include  a  letter  describing  such  a  day's  sport,  which  he  received 
from  his  son,  who  at  the  time  was  taking  a  post-graduate 
course  at  Oxford  and  who,  wliile  there,  hunted  quite  regularly 
with  the  New  College-Magdalene  "Cry." 

New  College, 
Oxford,  England. 
November,  1905. 
My  Deae  Father: 

You  will  certainly  wish  to  know  how  we  hunt 
the  hare  at  Oxford.  I  can  explain  by  telling  of  a  glorious  run 
to  beagles  we  had  this  afternoon  in  the  rolling  country  beyond 
Cumnor  Place.  These  November  days  have  a  fascination  in 
them  that  drives  every  undergraduate  afield — some  fellows 
in  rowing  togs  to  the  Isis,  others  to  "footer"  and  "rugger," 
some  few  to  hunting  and  various  field  sports,  and  still  others 
to  beagling.  A  run  in  the  open,  over  turf  or  through  "plough", 
over  ditches  or  through  hedge,  on  foot  after  beagles,  although 
not  to  be  compared  to  a  day's  fox  hunting  in  the  dear  old 
Genesee  Valley,  gives  the  body  new  life  and  the  mind  real  joy. 

New  College  and  Magdalene  keep  a  pack  of  beagles 
between  them,  which  hunt  the  hare  hereabouts  on  Wednesdays 
and  Saturdays  throughout  each  term,  while  the  Master  himself 
hunts  the  pack  during  the  long  "vac."  at  his  home.  The  beagles 
are  kennelled  just  outside  the  City  and  are  looked  after  by  a 
kennelman  under  the  personal  supervision  of  the  INIaster. 

This  was  my  first  day  at  beagling.  The  nearest  I  have  come 
to  hunting  since  I  came  to  Oxford  is  to  take  a  few  cracks  out 
of  my  hunting  crop,  occasionally,  just  before  turning  in. 
This  in  hopes  I  may  go  on  with  the  illusion  in  my  dreams.  So 
far,  I  have  cracked  and  coaxed  in  vain. 

If  I  had  a  little  more  floor  space  and  a  bridle  and  a  horn, 
I  would  doubtless  rig  up  a  dummy  horse  and  display  a  few 


Foot  Beagles  215 

pillows  about  the  floor  for  hounds  and  go  galloping  away  over 
hill  and  dale,  tooting  merrily  and  calling  encouragement  to 
Bluebell,  Barmaid  and  Dexter. 

As  it  is,  my  scout  winks  and  blinks  as  the  lash  goes  indis- 
criminately about  for  a  crack.  He  looks  with  patient  for- 
bearance on  my  weakness,  however,  when  I  stand  in  the  only 
available  space  I  have  and  cry,  "Speak  to  it,  Barmaid!  on. 
Workman,  on,  good  dog."  Crack!  "Hark  to  Bluebell!  hark 
to  Bluebell!  Rouse  him,  my  beauties!"  Crack!  "Away  with 
him,  away  with  him!"  etc. 

But  the  chase.  Of  that  you  shall  hear  presently,  for  we 
must  first  journey  to  the  meet.  With  lunch  scarcely  over  I 
hurry  into  my  knickers  and  rush  down  Holywell  Street  to 
the  corner  of  St.  Catherine's  I^ane  and  the  Broad.  The  New 
College  brake  had  been  awaiting  two  deliiKjuents  besides  my- 
self and  we  three  apj^earing  had  scarce  time  to  clamber  aboard, 
before  we  were  wheeling  away,  bound  for  the  open  country. 
Aside  from  the  fun  of  beagling,  these  country  excursions  are 
a  treat;  for  though  the  Cornwall  coast  has  its  peculiar  charm 
and  the  lake  country  its  special  attraction,  yet  the  scenery 
round  about  Oxford  has  no  superior  in  all  England.  From 
Magdalene  College  another  brake  has  started  bound  for  our 
destination.  Still  another  from  New  College  has  preceded  us, 
making  three  in  all  and  about  a  dozen  fellows  to  each.  We  are 
surely  a  lot  of  light-hearted,  light-headed,  college  fellows  out 
for  a  good  time.  A  superannuated  hedge  cutter,  moved  by 
some  sympathetic  impulse,  waved  his  hat  in  salutation  as  we 
clattered  by.  Children  in  legions  scattered  along  our  way, 
catcliing  the  contagious  spirit,  ran  with  us  shouting  in  wild 
freedom  till  outdistanced.  On  we  go,  over  the  liill  to  Cumnor 
Place,  passing  the  church  suggestive  of  Amy  llobsart  and 
her  churlish  gaoler,  Anthony  Foster.  Beyond  Cumnor  Place 
the  country  side  becomes  more  and  more  interesting. 
An  autumnal  haze  heightens  the  effect  and  gives  to  distance 


216        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

an  enchantment  of  its  own.  Occasionally  we  pass  between 
long  rows  of  oaks,  their  branches  interlocked  above.  On  all 
sides  the  fohage  is  beginning  to  colour  and  all  about  there  is 
a  seeming  preparation  for  winter.  Pheasants,  no  longer  able 
to  liide  their  tliieving  in  the  corn,  flj'  up  at  our  approach  and 
disappear  in  covert.  Squirrels,  nettled  at  our  rapid  pace,  take 
us  on  for  a  bit  of  a  run  from  the  tops  of  stone  walls.  From 
the  rumble  of  the  wheels  and  the  jingle  of  the  harness,  from  the 
clatter  of  the  hoofs  and  the  champing  of  the  bits,  comes  the 
rhythm  of  that  good  old  hunting  verse — 

"We  must  all  go  a-hunting  to-day." 

Some  six  miles  from  Oxford  we  pull  up  before  a  village 
imi — one  of  the  real  old-fashioned  sort.  A  suave  land- 
lord, full  fifteen  stone  in  weight,  extended  liis  hospitahty  from 
the  tavern  door.  The  beagle  van  had  already  arrived  and  the 
INI  aster  was  greeting  each  hound  by  name,  as  the  kennelman 
slipped  them  one  by  one  to  the  ground.  By  this  time  the 
Magdalene  brake  wheeled  in  upon  us,  wliich  completed  our 
number.  Then  divesting  ourselves  of  top  coats  and  woollens, 
we  clambered  down  some  thirty  strong  into  a  rabble  of 
beagles  and  curious  townsfolk  of  all  ages.  Toot,  toot  from  the 
Master's  horn,  a  hurried  consultation  with  the  innkeeper, 
wherein  he  advises  dra^^ing  Squire  Buffer's  turnip  field;  more 
tooting  and  hunting  jargon,  and  we  are  off  to  catch  a  turnip 
tliief  if  we  can.  Foremost  walks  the  first  wliipper-in,  restrain- 
ing with  voice  and  hunting  crop  any  beagle  impatient  to 
begin  hunting  on  his  own  account.  Following  the  first  whip- 
per-in walks  the  Master  surrounded  by  the  pack  or  "cry", 
then  comes  the  second  whipper-in,  and  lastly,  plain  followers 
of  the  chase.  Attached  to  this  goodly  company  are  some 
truant  schoolboys,  the  town  cripple  hobbling  upon  a  crutch 
and  a  wooden  leg,  and  a  good  number  of  wives  and  maidens 
with  shawls  over  their  heads ;  some  old  men,  probably  poachers 


Foot  licaglcs  217 

by  profession,  who  would  rather  hunt  than  cat,  fill  u])  the 
group  that  has  assembled  to  see  us  off.  ^lovin^-  alon<r  up  the 
lane  leading  to  Stjuire  Buffer's,  we  turn  to  the  left  upon  a 
grassy  slope  which  drops  gently  away  to  a  tributary  of  the 
river  Isis.  The  adjoining  field  to  the  right  is  the  Squire's 
turnip  patch  which  we  are  to  draw.  This  the  jMaster  proceeds 
to  do.  We  follow,  keeping  well  to  the  rear,  ready  however, 
to  go  away  the  instant  puss  is  routed.  When  within  some 
thirty  paces  of  the  turnips,  a  young  hare  springs  away  to  our 
left  down  the  slope.  Toot,  toot,  from  the  jNIaster  and  twenty 
silver-tongued  beagles  proclaim  the  good  news  for  miles 
around.  We  race  away  towards  the  stream.  Puss  Avill  doubt- 
less turn  right  or  left  to  avoid  the  water.  Not  to  the  left,  for  a 
country  huxter  is  holding  the  road  on  that  side;  then  let  us 
keep  to  the  right  and  well  to  the  rear  for  it  is  more  likely  he 
will  circle  back  toward  the  turnip  field.  This  he  did  and  was 
soon  lost  to  view  among  the  turnips.  What  a  treat  it  was  to 
watch  the  "Freshers".  They  have  fairly  gone  the  pace  and 
would  outstrip  the  beagles  themselves  were  it  not  for  being 
reproved  by  whippers-in,  for  in  beagling,  like  hunting,  some 
run  to  beagle,  while  others  beagle  to  run. 

Puss  had  indeed  played  a  trump  card  either  from  chance 
or  instinct  for  as  the  pack  ran  in  among  the  remnants  of  a 
turnip  crop  three  splendid  hares  sprang  away  in  opposite 
directions.  Halt!  The  INIaster  knows  his  business  full  well. 
Toot!  toot!  toot!  The  beagles  whimper  and  coax  to  go  on, 
but  the  Master  is  stern,  the  whippers-in  turn  the  leading 
beagles  smartly  back  and  the  whole  procession  comes  to  a 
check.  The  ISIaster  then  lifts  the  pack  to  where  the  nearest 
hare  has  spnmg  away.  The  scent  lies  strong  and  beagles  give 
tongue  to  it  in  chorus.  Off  again,  whither  who  knows!  In 
this  uncertainty  lies  one  of  the  charms  of  beagling.  This  hare 
with  a  fling  and  bound  scurries  away  down  stream.  He  will 
turn  under  half  a  mile,  but  which  way?    To  the  right  is  the 


218       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

stream  twisting  on  its  way  to  the  Isis,  to  the  left  is  the  lane 
with  hedge-fences  and  each  hedge  flanked  by  a  ditch. 

Those  who  fancy  they  know  the  game  keep  well  up  above 
the  pack,  to  the  left  along  the  lane,  towards  which  the  hare 
is  turning.  Choosing  this  course,  I  had  negotiated  the 
hedge  into  the  lane  and  flung  the  last  bit  of  mud  from  my 
boots ;  but  in  charging  the  hedge  on  the  other  side  of  the  lane, 
I  found  myself  fast  in  the  wire,  which  tore  my  coat  and  still 
retains  a  patch  of  my  knickers  as  a  memento  of  the  encounter. 
jMeanwhile  the  hare  has  crossed  the  lane  into  a  ploughed  field 
and  is  making  back  in  a  wide  circle  towards  the  turnip  patch. 
Beagles  and  wliippers-in  were  hard  after  and  all  coining  my 
way.  At  my  sudden  appearance  in  breaking  loose  from  the 
wire,  the  hare  made  a  sharp  turn,  through  the  two  hedge 
fences  enclosing  the  lane,  and  raced  away  towards  the  stream 
below.  Back  I  go  through  the  lane  hedges  again.  Puss  sees 
the  error  and  makes  another  try  for  the  tiu'nip  field  and  might 
have  succeeded  had  not  the  intervening  hedge  suddenly 
bristled  vAih.  belated  beagles  who  had  been  checked  by  a  bit 
of  wet  ground.  This  was  a  facer,  but  Puss  lost  no  time 
in  a  council  of  war.  Standing  on  my  vantage  ground  I  saw 
him  bound  away  down  towards  the  stream.  The  water  is  cold, 
swift  and  from  bank  to  bank  appears  to  be  some  twenty-five 
feet  in  breadth.  Surely  the  hare  will  not  take  to  its  icy  cur- 
rent. No,  indeed,  but  he  does  a  trick  fully  as  courageous. 
On  he  goes  and  in  his  splendid  stride  leaps  the  stream  at  a 
bound,  landing  well  over  on  the  farther  side.  Well  jumped, 
my  beauty!  "Hold  hard",  cried  some  one,  as  a  half  dozen 
"Freshers"  break  through  the  hedge  with  a  rush. 

"Hold  hard,  here  come  the  hounds." 

Sure  enough,  beagles.  Master  and  whippers-in  come  to  full 
view,  the  beagles  with  noses  to  earth  drive  ahead  with  one  strong 
instinct  speeding  them  on  after  the  flying  hare.  The  JNIaster 
and  wliij^pers-in  racing  after,  like  myself,  cast  about  for  a 


Foot  Beagles  219 

bridge.  The  highway  crosses  the  stream  some  three  hundred 
yards  below.  It  is  a  long  way,  but  a  dry  one  and  that  settled  it. 
I  own  to  funking  such  a  bath  in  November  with  a  bridge  in 
sight.  A  few  moments  later  the  beagles  are  SAvimming  in 
mid-stream  followed  by  the  INIaster  and  wliippers-in,  who  noth- 
ing daunted,  plunged  into  the  stream  and  are  wading  waist- 
deep  to  the  opposite  bank.  The  bridge  crossed,  we  are  lost  to 
the  pack;  beagles  and  all  have  disappeared  over  the  crest  of 
the  hill  and  not  even  a  mellow  note  comes  back  to  locate  their 
whereabouts  and  cheer  us  on.  Upon  the  crest  of  the  hill  how- 
ever, stands  a  shepherd,  outlined  against  the  sky,  waving  his 
arms  in  wild  gesticulation.  We  soon  come  up  to  him,  but 
excitement  has  run  riot  with  Ms  tongue,  for  his  gibberish  is 
quite  uninteUigible. 

There  is  something  picturesque  about  the  British  "navvy" 
when  liis  sporting  blood  is  up.  Picturesque  in  his  soiled,  ill- 
shaped  and  patched  garb,  his  unkempt  beard  and  native 
speech.  Something  truly  unaccountable,  in  his  wild  enthu- 
siasm for  field  sports.  The  voice  of  a  hound  warms  his  blood 
to  fervid  heat.  A  wild  desire  to  run  and  cheer  on  the  labour- 
ing hounds  possesses  him.  In  liis  disconnected  speech  and 
bright  eyes  one  hears  the  voice  and  seems  to  be  accosted  by  the 
fellow's  early  Saxon  ancestors.  The  gist  of  his  words,  how- 
ever, was  to  this  effect: 

"I  just  seed  'im  'ere,  sir,  just  'ere  now,  sir,  goin'  down 
behindt  the  'edge.  Thor  now,  look  thor,  sir,  'ear  'em,  those  be 
good  music,  sir." 

Presently  the  pack  came  to  view,  circling  toward  us.  Evi- 
dently from  their  direction,  the  hare  had  again  turned,  bent 
upon  doubling  and  recrossing  the  stream.  Doubtless  the 
shepherd  with  his  frantic  gestures  had  already  turned  the 
hare,  for  the  beagles,  first  heading  for  the  stream  again,  were 
now  circling  away  in  the  op])osite  direction,  toward  a  neighbour- 
ing chapel.     Puss  must  now  give  in  or  outwit  his  pursuers. 


220       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Trying  the  latter  he  circled  circuitouslj^  this  way  and  that, 
in  and  out,  drawing  continually  toward  the  chaj)el.  The 
jjace  was  heart  breaking  with  hedges,  ditches,  and  a  ploughed 
field  before  us.  The  beagles,  however,  are  bracing  to  their 
work,  and  rmxning  silently.  Sometliing  in  the  scent  tells  them 
the  chase  is  nearing  an  end  and  by  some  instinct  in  common  we 
also  feel  it  to  be  true.  The  chase  now  seems  well  in  hand.  Sud- 
denly the  hare  is  viewed  away,  the  beagles  break  loose  their 
melody  again  and  are  gaining  on  the  hare  at  every  stride.  A 
dozen  paces  more  and  the  pack  break  out  in  short  j'elps  of 
joy,  as  they  race  from  scent  to  \aew.  At  this  comes  renewed 
strength  to  weary  legs  and  we  stride  on  with  all  our  might. 
One  more  ditch,  another  hedge,  over  an  iron  picket  on  which 
one  fellow  is  left  hanging  by  his  knickers,  and  we  find  our- 
selves in  the  chapel  enclosure  among  mossy  headstones  and 
hoarj^  yew  trees.  With  a  toot,  toot,  toot  and  whoop-hallo,  the 
carcass  is  thrown  high  in  the  air  to  drop  in  the  midst  of  twenty 
eager  beagles,  tumbling  over  each  other  in  their  eagerness 
to  secure  a  share  of  the  spoils. 

JNIeanwliile  the  sun  had  reached  the  west  horizon  and  it 
was  decided  therefore  to  hunt  no  more  that  day,  but  to 
repair  to  the  inn  for  tea.  The  inn  lay  three-quarters  of  a 
mile  away  and  twilight  had  settled  in  before  we  reached  the 
tavern  door.  On  long  tables  witliin  were  tea,  bread  and  jam. 
In  less  time  than  I  can  tell  it,  the  boards  were  swept  bare,  our 
host  distraught  and  a  famine  still  raging.  JNIeanwhile  the  bea- 
gles had  been  loaded,  and  our  traps  were  now  waiting  before 
the  tavern  door.  On  leaving  the  inn,  I  chanced  to  pass  the  tap 
room.  I  fancy  few  such  rooms  in  England  have  survived  the 
modern  notions  of  a  correctly  appointed  bar-room.  The  floor 
was  flagged  and  somewhat  lower  than  the  threshold.  On  three 
sides  of  the  room  casks  were  piled  high  one  above  the  other 
to  the  ceiling.  The  latter  was  low  and  black  with  the  smoke 
of  three  hundred  years.     Rough  hewn  beams  furnished  the 


Fuut  Beagles  221 

ceiling  support  and  from  one  which  spanned  the  centre,  hung 
a  dingy,  battered,  broir/.e  lamp.  Beneath  was  a  table  warped 
like  a  potato  chip  and  around  the  table  sat  three  of  the  natives 
imbibing.  Chief  of  tliis  clan  was  the  sporting  cripple 
above  referred  to,  whom  I  overheard  remark  to  his  pal,  "  'Ave 
been  'ere  summers  above  fifty  years  and  'Ave  niver  afore  'card 
tell  as  'ow  an  'are  jumj)  the  Weir  Water." 

Said  a  loquacious  sot  in  rejoinder:  "  'Ave  'card  my  faather 
tell  as  'ow  'e  did." 

Whether  it  was  the  hare  or  the  old  fellow's  sire,  who  per- 
formed tliis  daring  feat,  I  did  not  stop  to  inquire  or  whether 
indeed  a  hare  had  ever  been  known  to  jump  the  Weir  Water 
before.  By  tlais  time  the  affair  has  very  likely  possessed  the 
whole  \nllage.  No  doubt  all  the  wonderful  feats  of  fifty  years 
past  will  be  aired  in  the  discussion  and  the  Squire,  himself, 
will  do  Avell  to  settle  the  point  before  the  villagers  take  sides. 

The  journey  back  to  Oxford  was  scarcely  less  interesting 
than  our  excursion  out.  There  is  the  same  steady  rumble  of 
wheels,  the  same  jingle  of  harness  and  clatter  of  hoofs.  On 
cresting  the  hill  beyond  Cuninor  Place  we  were,  nevertheless, 
glad  to  see  the  lights  of  Oxford  near  at  hand.  From  any 
vantage  ground  Oxford  appears  well  by  day,  bristling  with 
spires  and  towers.  At  night,  however,  when  only  lights  are 
seen,  the  mind  runs  back  along  English  history  to  the  earliest 
times,  even  before  barefoot  monks  trudged  this  road,  or  before 
the  days  of  King  Alfred,  who  is  said  to  have  sown  the  seed 
that  later  brought  forth  the  colleges. 

Englishmen  have  always  been  proud  of  Oxford  and  well 
they  may  be.  Ever  since  those  early  days  the  flower  of  the 
Kingdom  has  journeyed  hither  like  pilgrims  to  INIecca. 

Think  how  for  centuries  the  schoolboy  on  the  incoming 
coach  has  first  seen  the  object  of  his  dreams.  How  his  heart 
beats  high  at  the  sight  which  to  him  must  have  seemed  the 
promise  of  a  "new  heaven  and  a  new  earth." 


222       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

There  is  little  time  for  reverie,  however,  as  the  trap  has 
already  swung  into  St.  Catherine's  Lane  and  stopped. 

Each  beagler  hurries  away  to  his  own  rooms  as  rajsidly  as 
tired  legs  will  travel,  in  time  to  don  togs  of  a  better  sort  and  at 
the  stroke  of  seven  o'clock  sit  down  to  dinner  with  his  fellows 
in  the  grand  old  College  Hall. 

Affectionately, 

Your  Son. 

It  is  greatly  to  be  regretted  that,  while  we  have  plenty 
of  athletics  in  our  American  schools  and  universities,  we  have 
very  little  sport. 

School  and  college  athletics  in  America,  in  the  writer's 
mind,  are  in  a  veiy  lamentable  condition.  He  speaks  from  an 
intimate  acquaintance  wth  one  of  the  largest  universities  in 
tliis  country,  a  university  numbering  over  thirty-five  hundred 
students.  Yet  all  the  atliletics  of  this  great  institution  are 
carried  on  by  fewer  than  three  hundred  men  or  about  one  in 
every  group  of  twelve.  In  the  so-called  major  sports  only  such 
men  as  are  able  to  demonstrate  marked  abihty  in  their  fresh- 
man or  sophomore  years  are  wanted.  Many  try  but  few  are 
chosen.  Coaches  have  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  bother 
with  any  except  the  very  best.  We  hear  a  lot  about  college 
athletics,  but  "college  athletics"  are  one  tiling,  outdoor  sports 
for  sport's  sake  are  another. 

In  the  American  university  above  referred  to,  the  under- 
graduates who  do  not  quahfy  and  go  in  for  athletics  are  either 
not  at  all  interested  therein,  or  are  content  to  look  on,  bet  on 
the  result  or  talk  wise,  like  a  lot  of  professional  talent  at  a 
horse  race.  At  Oxford,  England,  there  are  also  about  thirty- 
five  hundred  students.  Every  day  throughout  the  collegiate 
year  from  two  thousand  to  twenty-five  hundred  of  that  number 
are  at  their  favourite  outdoor  sports  the  better  part  of  each 
afternoon.     The  result  of  these  two  systems  of  teaching  is 


Foot  Beayles  223 

simply  this:  in  America  our  men  are  old  at  forty  and  at  fifty 
most  of  them  have  shot  their  bolt,  made  a  pot  of  money  or 
lost  it,  or  both,  and  tumble  into  graves  or  sanitariums  with 
half  their  allotted  days  unnumbered;  while  in  England,  tiie 
men  who  played  at  school  and  college  as  much  or  more  than 
they  studied  are  li\ing  on  for  twenty  or  thirty  years  after 
we  are  dead  and  forgotten. 

It  must  not  be  inferred  from  the  unstinted  praise  of  the 
■writer  for  English  methods  of  school  and  college  field  sports 
and  the  natural  indulgence  in  the  chase,  that  he  is  an  Anglo- 
maniac.  He  is  not.  He  hopes  he  is  sportsman  enough,  how- 
ever, to  take  off  his  hat  to  any  system  better  than  our  own 
wherever  found. 

From  all  the  talk  that  one  hears  about  games  at  college, 
one  unfamiliar  with  the  number  of  stucUes  prescribed  for  each 
undergraduate  would  think  boys  did  little  else  except  play. 
They  tell  of  a  farmer  who  wrote  the  dean  of  one  university, 
to  say  that  the  boys  there  seemed  to  have  a  good  time  playing 
games  but  he  would  like  to  inquire  how  much  the  adtlitional 
tuition  would  be  if  it  included  writing  and  spelling. 

Nevertlieless,  it  is  nothing  short  of  a  calamity  that  this  lack 
of  play  at  our  schools  and  colleges  is  the  case.  As  specimens 
of  the  free  school  and  college  book-crammed,  the  American 
youths  win,  but  as  examples  of  finely  developed  manhood  and 
womanhood,  they  are  far  below  what  they  should  be.  As 
models  of  professional  athletic  training  a  few  out  of  many 
shine  supreme,  but  as  animals,  as  a  rule  the  majority  are 
deficient.  In  these  days  of  so-called  advancement,  we  claim 
America  leads  the  world.  In  mere  money-getting,  in  mere 
book-learning  and  professional  coaching,  she  does.  It  is  a 
lamentable  fact,  however,  that  too  many  of  our  children  are 
growing  up  book-wise,  body  foolish  and  money  mad. 

Let  us  look  about  us.  Are  we  not  developing  a  nerv^ous, 
highly  strung  race  of  people,  which  shine  and  go  like  rockets 


224       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

while  they  are  in  transit,  but,  like  the  rockets  also,  die  in  the 
attempt  ? 

Our  boys  and  girls  are  forgetting  how  to  play,  the  result 
must  be  in  America  as  it  has  been  in  Spain  and  France,  a 
nervous,  excitable,  hysterical  race  of  effeminate  men  and 
women. 

Again  at  most  American  Colleges  the  men  who  are  able  to 
demonstrate  professional  abihty  in  their  freshman  year  are 
worked  and  coached  to  the  utmost  limit  of  their  powers.  There 
is  no  place  for  a  boy  who  wishes  to  become  proficient  at  row- 
ing, for  instance,  and  who  does  not  want  to  make  a  drudge 
and  a  slave  of  himself  in  order  to  keep  his  place.  With  every 
other  school  and  college  field  game  it  is  the  same.  As  we  said 
before,  college  athletics  are  not  sport,  they  kill  sport. 

So  little  do  our  boys  and  girls  play  that  they  are  losing  all 
taste  for  it,  unless  they  can  win.  They  cannot  stand  defeat,  it 
breaks  their  hearts.  Win  or  nothing.  Chagrin,  disgrace, 
mortification  is  the  only  reward  for  the  second  best.  This  is 
the  greatest  weakness  in  school  and  college  sports  in  America 
to-day. 

What  is  needed  most  is  some  form  of  schooling  that  will  not 
only  grow  thrifty,  healthy  animals  with  nerve,  courage,  health 
and  endurance,  but  such  as  will  inculcate  that  best  of  all  Chris- 
tian virtues;  i.  e.,  living  by  the  golden  rule.  Where  and  by 
what  form  of  training  can  these  things  better  be  accomplished 
than  an  open-air  play  ground?  Where  and  by  what  method 
can  we  better  teach  our  children  how  to  play  fair  and  take 
defeat  as  well  as  victory,  in  a  sportsmanlike  manner?  How,  or 
by  what  process  can  we  develop  in  our  children  a  guarantee 
to  health  and  long  life,  better  than  by  that  daily  exercise  in 
gentlemanly  and  womanly  games  of  field  sports,  which  store 
their  systems  with  energy  to  carry  them  through  the  trials  and 
cares  of  hf  e  to  a  ripe  old  age  ?  We  delve  and  slave  and  deny  our- 
selves many  comforts  to  give  our  children  the  best  training 


Foot  Beagles  225 

for  their  minds  that  we  can  command,  while  the  growth  and 
training  of  their  hodies  are  left  almost  entirely  to  chance. 

As  a  nation,  we  seem  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  children 
are  animals  and  as  such  should  have  our  first  consideration. 
The  writer  makes  tliis  plea  for  the  growing  boy  and  girl  of 
America,  that  our  schools  and  colleges  let  up  on  mind  cram- 
ming and  professional  athletic  training  and  teach  them  how  to 
play,  how  to  ])lay  fair,  how  to  win  and  take  defeat;  and  that 
parents  should  insist  upon  it  that  such  a  training  becomes  a 
part  of  their  children's  education. 

To  return  to  foot  beagles,  "Hunting,"  says  the  immortal 
Jorricks,  "is  the  image  of  war  without  its  guilt."  It  ])ossesses 
qualifications  that  appeal  to  all  thoroughly  manly  natures.  It 
develops  those  qualities  found  in  thorouglily  masculine  men, 
that  are  most  admired  by  thoroughly  feminine  women. 

Long  Hve  the  chase  1 


To  Mr.  Lindley  Bott, 

First  Whipper-in  to  the 
Essex  Otterhounds. 

"Where  a  winding  stream  amid  flowering  mead 
Perpetual  glides  along  and  undermines 
The  cavern's  bank  hy  tenacious  roots 
Of  hoary  willows,  arch'd  (find)  his  gloomy  retreat." 

Somervile. 


XX 

OTTER  HUNTING 

THE   OTTER — NATURE   OF   THE   GAME— THE   OTTERHOUND — HIS 
GREAT  COURAGE  AND  ENDURANCE. 

"C^  OX  hunting  men  who  have  never  hunted  with  otterhounds 
-'■  generally  look  on  the  sport  as  something  suitable  only 
for  school  boys  and  girls  to  play  at,  during  the  summer  season, 
when  foxes  are  unwarrantable.  They  tliink,  perhaps,  it  may 
do  well  enough  as  easy  lessons  for  children  in  their  first  essay 
towards  the  science  of  fox  hunting,  or  for  the  over  zealous 
sporting  blood  of  a  Briton,  who  cannot  afford  to  supply  him- 
self with  a  mount.  As  to  comjiaring  the  game  with  riding  to 
hounds  after  the  fox,  the  wild  red  deer,  or  even  a  drag,  most 
hunting  men  would  probably  "cross  themselves  and  pray  to  be 
forgiven  for  harbouring  such  blasphemous  thoughts."  The 
writer's  preconceived  ideas  of  the  game  were  after  the  pre- 
vaihng  notion,  but  he  wants  to  say  right  here  that  he  has  been 
converted.  He  believes  it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  for  anyone 
who  loves  to  see  hounds  work  and  whose  soul  is  tuned  to  hound 


Oflcr  limiting  227 

music;  and  for  the  men  and  women,  too,  who  liave  the  true 
hunting  instinct  in  their  blood,  otter  hunting  takes  second 
pUiee  to  no  other  form  of  the  chase.  Whoever  has  followed 
the  writer's  experiences  in  the  hunting  fields  so  far  may  be 
surprised  to  hear  him  say  he  has  never  had  a  day  to  hounds 
that,  for  unflagging  interest  and  hunting  excitement,  outranks 
the  day's  sport  he  had  with  the  Essex  otterhounds,  which  he 
is  about  to  record  in  tliis  chapter.  How  shall  he  go  about  it? 
How  shall  he  find  the  words  to  set  the  picture  before  his 
readers  Avith  all  its  varied  lights  and  shadows? 

As  the  otter  in  America  is  so  little  known  except  to 
trappers  of  the  Hudson  Bay  country  and  other  remote  parts, 
he  will  need  a  letter  of  introduction  to  most  Americans  before 
they  realise  what  an  important  personage  he  really  is,  and  espe- 
cially, what  it  means  to  outwit  and  outgeneral  him. 

George  T.  Underbill  says,  "The  Otter  is  more  nervous 
and  fiercer  than  any  other  English  beast  of  the  chase";  Otto 
Paget  says,  "This  sport,  I  think,  offers  more  opportunities 
for  displaying  craft  and  resources  than  any  other  form  of 
hunting";  to  all  of  which  the  writer  says  "Amen!" 

There  is  ])r()bably  less  known  about  the  otter  than  about 
any  other  wild  animal.  Natural  History  does  httle  more  than 
catalogue  him.  His  liistory,  as  the  biographers  would  say, 
"is  shrouded  in  obscurity."  This,  however,  never  worries  the 
otter.  He  outranks  all  other  game  for  shyness.  He  inhabits 
nearly  every  stream  in  Great  Britain,  but  it  is  very  rare,  indeed, 
that  one  is  ever  seen,  even  by  the  most  ardent  fishermen  or  by 
the  owner  of  the  stream  on  which  they  are  most  numerous.  No 
doubt  he  hves  and  thrives  in  hundreds  of  water  courses  in  the 
States  and  Canada,  where  no  one  would  expect  to  find  him 
and  when  only  a  pack  of  otterhounds  or  a  Hudson  Bay 
trapper  would  locate  him.  Publicity  is  the  one  thing  above  all 
others  the  otter  wishes  to  escape.  In  this,  as  in  every  other 
line,  he  is  most  successful.     In  build  the  otter  resembles  the 


228       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

weasel,  to  which  family  he  belongs.  He  lives  on  land,  but  is 
especially  at  home  in  the  water.  His  short  legs  make  him  a 
bit  awkward  on  land,  and  it  is  in  the  water  that  the  beautiful 
adaptation  of  his  conformation  to  his  habits  and  mode  of  pur- 
suing his  game  is  most  strikingly  exhibited.  He  is  lolig  in  body 
(from  snout  to  tail,  twenty-six  to  twenty-eight  inches,  from 
three  feet  to  three  and  one  half  from  tip  to  tip),  but  stands 
only  about  four  or  five  inches  high.  He  is  provided  with 
big  web  feet,  and  has  a  sleek  coat  of  brownish  fur  that  slips 
through  the  water  as  if  it  were  greased,  all  of  wliich  enables 
him  to  dart  about  under  water  with  the  greatest  ease  and 
speed.  He  is  hthe  and  serpentine  in  his  movements,  assisted 
by  a  long  stout  tail  wliich  does  duty  as  a  rudder  to  steer  him 
about,  and  as  a  propeller  as  well.  He  is  armed  with  a  very 
sharp  set  of  teeth  that  are  particularly  adapted  to  holding 
their  slippery  game  and  from  which  none  of  the  animals  he 
preys  upon  need  hope  to  escape.  They  are  professional 
poachers  by  trade  and  artists  in  catching  fish.  Although  a  fish 
is  shy,  wary  and  quick,  the  otter  can  go  it  one  better  at  every 
play,  and  generally  wins.  They  won't  mind  my  saying  that 
although  they  have  not  the  craft  and  cimning  of  a  fox  or  the 
speed  of  the  deer,  still  they  are  as  artful  and  evasive  as  his 
Satanic  Majesty.  They  can  give  even  the  shifty  hare  points 
in  dodging,  while  no  ghost  or  phantom  can  match  them  in  the 
art  of  appearing  and  disappearing,  and  appearing  again  where 
least  expected.  For  keeping  hounds  and  followers  guessing 
until  they  don't  know  their  own  names,  they  have,  among 
animals,  no  equal. 

"  'Tis  here:  'tis  there:  'tis  gone." 

'As  a  family  they  are  a  roving  band  of  gypsies.  If  one  is 
here  to-day  it  is  a  sure  sign  he  will  be  somewhere  else  to-mor- 
row. They  travel  long  distances  at  night,  and  sleep  in  a  drain, 
which  they  enter  under  water  and  follow  to  a  convenient  rest- 


Offer  Ilunfing  229 

in^  place  above  the  water  level.  A  favourite  spot  for  them  is 
a  hollow  willow-tree,  and  on  one  occasion  the  Essex  Hunt  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  one  dive  from  the  top  of  one  into  the 
stream  below.  When  pursued  they  take  to  water.  They  can 
stay  below  the  surface  for  six  to  eight  minutes  without  coming 
up  to  breathe,  and  when  they  do  come  up  it  is  only  for  an  in- 
stant when  they  simply  poke  the  end  of  their  noses  carefully 
out,  hardly  producing  a  ripple.  They  take  a  lot  of  finding  as 
well  as  a  lot  of  hunting.  Without  the  hounds  to  follow  the 
scent,  as  it  rests  above  the  water  or  jfloats  down  upon  it,  a  kill, 
even  with  spears,  would  be  almost  impossible.  After  hounds 
have  bolted  their  otter  and  hunted  liim  by  swimming  in  the 
water,  this  is  called  hunting  his  Avash. 

As  to  their  domestic  relations  the  otter,  like  the  domestic 
dog,  is  believed  to  hold  to  the  doctrine  of  free  love,  with  no 
special  season  for  courting  or  bringing  forth  their  young. 
JSIadam  Otter,  hke  the  masculine  members  of  the  family,  is 
possessed  "of  a  roving  turn  of  mind."  Her  domestic  duties 
and  family  cares  come  upon  her  once  or  twice  a  year  like 
house-cleaning  and  interfere  somewhat  with  her  natural  habits 
of  roaming.  Twins  and  triplets  usually  come  to  bless  this 
domestic  relation  and  when  the  stork  is  especially  good-natured 
and  generous-minded,  he  leaves  four,  and  sometimes  even  five, 
httle  cubs  with  Madam  at  a  time.  She  frets  a  little  over  this 
enforced  confinement  perhaps,  but  she  would  not  be  happy 
without  it.  The  "old  man,"  at  the  first  signs  of  trouble  com- 
ing on,  has  an  engagement  in  the  next  county.  This  de])rives 
him  of  the  privilege  of  sitting  up  nights  with  croupy  children 
and  other  such  domestic  duties.  Later  on  he  may  have  a  look 
in  when  passing,  "but  if  he  is  at  all  impudent  and  inclined  to 
boss  or  domineer  over  the  children,  out  he  goes,  his  hat  is 
kicked  into  the  stream  after  liim  and  the  broomstick  is  set  out- 
side to  guard  the  door." 

These  domestic  quarrels,  says  the  huntsman  of  the  Essex 


230       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Otterhounds,  get  hold  of  the  old  man's  nerves;  they  jar  him, 
and  scolding  is  something  he  cannot  abide.  Therefore  he 
never  ventures  in  again  until  the  family  is  groAvn  or  he  finds 
the  broomstick  has  been  removed  from  before  the  door,  wliich 
is  taken  as  a  sign  of  welcome  by  any  gentleman  otter  passing 
that  way,  or,  as  the  English  say,  who  put  the  sign  "apart- 
ments" in  their  windows  at  the  seaside  resorts,  "We  don't  take 
roomers,  but  we  might  entertain  a  proposition  to  take  respect- 
able 'paying  guests.'  " 

Like  all  poachers  and  rovers  the  otter  leads  an  exciting  and 
happy  hfe.  He  has  a  keen  eye  for  the  largest  fish  in  a  stream 
and  a  special  tooth  for  salmon  trout.  To  be  perfectly  frank 
about  it,  the  otter  is  a  thief  and  is  accordingly  taken  without 
compunction.  He  eats  quantities  of  frogs  and  snails,  and  has 
been  known  to  take  ducks  under  water,  and  to  kill  young  lambs. 
When  he  inhabits  well  stocked  streams,  he  only  troubles  to  cut 
a  piece  out  of  the  shoulder  of  the  largest  trout  and  leaves  the 
rest  of  the  fish  on  the  bank.  His  presence  is  often  discovered 
in  this  way. 

"A  jolly  life  the  otter  leads 

That  lurks  hy  Eden  water; 
He  has  nothing  to  do  hut  fish  about 

And  take  his  j)ick  of  the  eels  and  trout 
That  revel  at  dusk  among  the  weeds. 

The  dainty  old  thief  of  an  otter." 

He  not  only  kills  the  trout  but  drives  them  to  deeper 
streams  beyond  the  reach  of  the  fisherman's  alluring  flies.  It 
is  amusing,  however,  to  hear  some  jealous  otter  hunters  claim- 
ing the  otter  does  not  kill  fish.  This  sounds  like  the  over- 
jealous  fox  hunters  who  talk  about  foxes  not  kiUing  chickens. 
The  writer  prefers  to  take  the  other  view  and  to  feel  all  the 
time  when  in  pursuit  of  the  game  that  a  thief  is  before  him 


Otter  Hunting  231 

and  that  as  one  of  a  party  of  law  and  order  men  and  women 
he  is  out  in  the  name  of  retribution.  It  then  becomes  a  pleasure 
to  run  the  rascal  down,  and  one  can  finally  see  him  broken 
with  rejoicing,  especially  when,  as  in  England,  the  war  is 
conducted  in  such  a  thoroughly  sportsmanhke  manner.  The 
evasive  rogue  has  been,  thanks  to  the  Master's  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  his  habits,  outwitted  and  outgeneralled  at  his  own 
game  while  the  hounds  have  worked  as  hard  to  take  him  as 
he  has  to  escape.  Like  the  fox,  also,  he  pursues  his  game 
by  stealth,  therefore  he  cannot  complain  if  he  in  turn  is  also 
pursued.  In  tliis  respect  the  otter  and  the  fox  make  most 
ideal  game. 

"So  hcrc'»  to  the  hca.st  called  the  Otter, 
He's  tdlji  and  canii//.  the  Otter; 
No  sport  is  more  thrilling. 
No  beast  takes  viore  killing. 
Than  the  varmint  that's  known  as  the  Otter." 

"The  Otterhound,"  says  the  noted  English  authority 
Youat,  "used  to  be  (two  hundred  years  ago)  a  mixed  breed 
between  a  southern  hound  and  a  rough  coated  terrier,  and  in 
size  and  form  between  a  terrier  and  a  foxhound."  We  are  also 
told  they  were  formerly  used  for  hunting  the  hare  and  were 
called  Welsh  harriers. 

The  pure  bred  otterhound— for  so  he  is  now  considered — 
is  of  a  dull  brownish  colour  resembling  the  Airedale,  of 
whose  blood  he  no  doul)t  has  a  dash.  This  is  also  suggested  by 
his  indomitable  will,  liis  wiry  coat,  the  carriage  of  his  head,  etc. 
He  has  a  deep  melodious  voice  and  lets  it  go  with  great  free- 
dom. 

One  trouble  in  breeding  otterhoimds  is  that  the  otter 
season  is  on  at  the  time  the  hounds  cannot  be  spared  for  breed- 
ing purposes.    jNIost  packs  used  for  otter  hunting  are,  there- 


232       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

fore,  largely  draft  foxhounds  and  a  lighter  hound  known  as 
Welsh  hounds,  which  are  not  unlike  our  own  so-called  Ameri- 
can hounds.  Most  packs  have  several  couples  of  old  foxhounds, 
as  it  has  heen  proved  that  wliile  they  take  to  the  water,  although 
not  as  free  in  giving  tongue,  they  are  considered  more  reliable. 
Foxhounds  take  very  readily  to  otter  hunting  after  they  have 
been  once  well  blooded  to  the  game  and  will  seldom  leave  it 
for  any  other  trail,  even  that  of  the  fox.  There  are  in  Great 
Britain  some  twenty  odd  packs  of  hounds  devoted  especially 
to  otter  hunting.  The  country  of  an  otter  hunt  extends  over 
considerable  territory.  The  hounds  are  moved  from  county 
to  county,  spending  a  few  days  or  a  week  hunting  the  neigh- 
bouring streams.  In  fact,  they  are  about  as  sliifty  as  the  otter 
himself. 

ISIost  packs  contain  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five  couples, 
about  half  of  the  number  coming  out  for  a  day's  hunt. 

The  otterhound,  as  bred  to  jjerfection  in  England  at  the 
present  time,  is  a  bold,  resolute  and  most  hardy  animal,  and 
while  not  as  active  as  the  English  foxhound  or  harrier,  his  grit 
and  endurance  are  wonderful.  He  must  be  in  icy  cold  water 
for  hours  at  a  time,  at  least  in  the  beginning  of  the  season,  and 
when  he  comes  upon  his  game,  it's  a  life  or  death  grapple  with 
one  of  the  fiercest  fighters  that  is  known,  for  the  otter  is  quick 
as  a  fish  and  his  powerful  jaws  and  sharp  teeth  make  liis  bite 
something  for  a  hound  to  remember. 

The  otterhound,  therefore,  needs  to  be,  as  he  is,  one  of  the 
most  ferocious  of  dogs.  Once  he  goes  into  a  fight  it  is  to  the 
death — like  the  otter,  he  never  quits  while  there  is  a  breath  of 
hfe  in  his  body.  He  fights  to  kill;  in  this  respect  he  takes 
second  place  to  none,  not  even  the  bulldog.  The  latter,  when 
once  a  hold  is  secured,  simply  hangs  on  wherever  the  hold  may 
be,  but  an  otterhound  bites  and  fights  to  kill.  This  ferocious 
temper,  we  are  told,  makes  it  dangerous  to  attempt  to  keep 
many  of  them  in  the  same  kennel,  as  they  are  apt  to  fight 


THK   ESSEX   OTTERHOITNDS 


Otter  Hunting  233 

among  themselves  from  sheer  love  of  comhat.  When  once  a 
row  is  started  they  all  join  in  and  are  said  never  to  quit  as 
long  as  two  hounds  can  stand  up  and  fight.  We  are  also 
told  of  several  attem])ts  to  keep  ])acks  of  pure  otterhounds 
together,  hut  their  fighting  propensities  have  discouraged  the 
most  ardent  fanciers  of  the  breed.  For  this  reason,  we  believe, 
most  packs  are  largely  made  up  of  foxhounds.  The  otter- 
hound, like  the  otter,  seems  particularly  adapted  to  the  work 
he  has  to  perform.  He  is  provided  with  a  strong  coat  of  rough 
wire  hair  which  seems  ca])able  of  resisting  cold.  For,  although 
he  is  much  in  the  icy  water,  when  heated  with  exertion,  he  is 
more  exempt  from  rheumatics  and  other  kennel  ailments  than 
any  other  hound.  His  face  and  muzzle  are  guarded  by  a  pro- 
fusion of  long  wiry  "whisker"  hairs  that  gives  liim  a  devil-maj'-- 
care  look  that  in  no  way  belies  him,  and  is  a  j)oint  greatly 
admired  by  fanciers  of  the  breed.  Whatever  his  origin,  he  is 
naturally  adapted  to  the  chase  of  the  otter.  Many  generations 
of  use  for  s])ccial  purposes  have  undoubtedly  helped  to 
strengthen  and  perpetuate  the  particular  characteristics  of  the 
breed,  which,  aided  by  an  Englishman's  eye  and  natural  gift 
for  breeding  for  improvement,  has  produced  an  almost  ideal 
animal  for  the  work  he  has  to  perform.  In  grit,  courage, 
endurance  and  fighting  propensities,  he  has  no  superior,  per- 
haps no  equal,  in  the  canine  family.  He  needs  all  these  accom- 
plishments and  a  good  stock  of  each  to  draw  from,  when  it 
comes  to  the  chase  of  a  beast  that  takes  so  much  arduous  hunt- 
ing to  find,  and  so  much  fighting  courage  to  kill,  when  found, 
as  the  otter.  It  must  be  said,  however,  the  fighting  character- 
istics of  the  otterhound,  above  referred  to,  are  not  so  notice- 
able A\ith  the  Essex  hounds  as  one  might  be  led  to  think  from 
the  above.  Mr.  I^indley  Bott  of  Chelmsford,  whi])per-in  to 
this  pack,  assures  the  writer  the  ])ure-bred  otterhounds  in  their 
pack,  which  are  about  one  in  three,  are  not  given  to  fighting 
more  than  the  others.    The  Essex  men  have  found  that  a  cross 


234       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

between  otter  and  foxhound  makes  a  most  reliable  and  good 
working  hound.  They  retain  the  mode  of  the  otter  and  the 
keen  scenting  qualities  of  the  foxhound. 

"Headlong  he  leaps  into  the  flood,  his  mouth 
Loud  op'ning  spends  amain,  amd  his  wide  throat 
Swells  ev'ry  note  with  joy." 


"From  shore  to  shore  they  swim,  "while  clamour  loud 
And  wild  uproar  torments  the  troubled  Jlood." 

Somervile. 

XXI 

A  DAY  WITH  THE  ESSEX  OTTERHOUNDS 

THE  MEET — THE  TERRIERS — HOUND  MUSIC — A  GREAT  DAY's 
SPORT — LOA-E-M^UilNG — HOW  ENGLISH  SPORTSMEN  ARE  AC- 
COUNTED FOR — T^VLLY-HO-OTTER — THE  OBLIGING  MILLERS. 

THE  meet  of  the  Essex  hounds,  pre\aously  referred  to,  was 
at  Bishop's  Hall  ]Mill,  Chelmsford,  Essex,  England.  In 
company  with  I.indley  Bott,  first  whipper-in,  the  writer  went 
out,  on  the  morning  of  July  4th,  1903,  to  witness  and  partici- 
pate in  his  first  otter  hunt. 

A  good  number  of  brethren  and  disciples  of  the  faith  had 
already  assembled;  they  were  mostly  young  people,  say  from 
sixteen  to  thirty  years  of  age,  with  occasionally  an  older  sinner, 
say  from  forty  to  fifty,  which  latter  age  included  the  tenderfoot 
from  America.  Speaking  of  the  tenderfoot  reminds  him  of  a 
laughable  incident  that  happened  during  this  i)articular  hunt. 
A  follower  asked  the  writer  how  he  was  enjoying  himself. 
"First  class,"  he  replied,  "although  a  tenderfoot  at  the  game, 
I  am  enjoying  it  immensely."  "Really,"  replied  the  native, 
looking  down  at  the^vTiter's  shoes,  "are  your  feet  hurting  you?" 
"Well,  not  exactly,"  and  to  let  the  native  down  easily  as  pos- 
sible,— "but  they  are  getting  a  bit  weary." 

Let  us  hark  back  to  the  meet.  The  masculine  contingent 
were  mostly  dressed  in  flannel  knickers  with  shirt  and  jacket 


236       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

to  match,  golf  stockings  and  heavy  shoes.  Dark  blue  short- 
coats  with  wliite  breeches  was  the  dress  for  Master  and  whip- 
per-in. The  ladies — bless  their  smiling  faces — were  dressed 
for  the  most  part  in  short  skirts  of  some  homespmi  material 
that  would  stand  grief,  a  blouse  to  match,  stout  shoes  that 
laced  up  liigh,  and  head  gear  in  variety,  from  a  high  theatre 
hat  covered  with  posies,  to  a  plain  straw  sailor.  Some  of  the 
ladies  wore  the  Hunt  Club  blue.  All  carried  in  their  hand  a 
straight,  iron  pointed  staff,  about  six  feet  in  length,  a  most 
useful  instrument  in  negotiating  fences,  ditches,  brooks,  etc. 
Besides  being  very  useful  at  times,  it  was  like  carrjdng  a  gun. 
It  made  you  feel  as  if  you  were  really  going  hunting.  In  olden 
times  it  was  customary  for  the  followers  to  use  a  spear  on  the 
otter  whenever  the  opportunity  offered,  but  this  is  not  now- 
adays considered  "good  form"  in  sportsmansliip,  and  the  spear 
of  former  days  is  now  carried  as  a  staff  like  an  Alpine  stock. 

Hark!  No!  yes!  'tis  the  sweet,  mellow  note  of  a  distant 
horn  that  announces  the  approach  of  hounds.  'Tis  quite 
enough  to  set  our  blood  going.  Conversation  comes  to  a  stand- 
still; the  story  stops  for  want  of  a  listener,  and  even  the  latest 
gossip  comes  to  an  end  with,  "Tell  you  the  rest  later  on." 

Listen!  'Tis  a  sound  that  cheers  you  like  the  voice  of  your 
dearest  friend. 

"Warrior!  Warrior!"  Crack!  "Warrior!"  It's  only  a 
whipper-in  rating  a  hound,  but  it  puts  your  heart  in  the  right 
place  without  further  ado,  and  j^our  blood  at  a  gallop  in  antici- 
pation of  the  pleasure  that's  coming. 

"Here  they  come!" 

Headed  by  three  httle  wire-haired,  go-as-you-please  fox  ter- 
riers, the  huntsman,  "Marching  as  for  war,"  comes  leading 
the  pack  around  the  bend  of  the  road. 

There  is  nothing  like  hunting  to  shame  a  case  of  the  blues. 
From  now  on  we'll  let  the  other  fellow  do  the  worrying.  It 
beats  wliiskey  for  making  you  light-hearted,   or  opium  for 


A  Day  With  the  Essex  Otterhounds  237 

getting  you  past  trouble,  and  care  is  as  rattled  at  the  note  of 
a  huntsman's  horn  as  a  girl  at  her  lover's  first  call. 

Here  they  come,  hard  as  nails  every  one  of  them.  The  fox- 
hounds come  on  with  a  grand  stately  air  (the  heavy  artillery 
of  the  Command)  ;  the  otterhounds  look  as  if  thej'^  would  hold 
on  like  death  (they  are  the  infantry)  ;  then  the  lighter  AVelsh 
hounds  (the  cavalry  contingent),  full  of  endurance,  speed, 
fire  and  dash.  Finally  the  little  wire-haired  (old  English 
bred  white)  terriers,  three  of  them,  with  each  particular  hair 
standing  by  itself.  They  went  as  they  pleased,  and  took  upon 
themselves  the  welfare  of  the  whole  command.  They  barked 
at  a  small  boy  who  only  sat  on  a  fence  and  looked  at  the 
hounds  as  they  passed  by  and  at  a  big  traction  engine  for 
committing  a  similar  offence.  Chickens  and  farm  dogs,  how- 
ever, were  beneath  their  notice.  They  drove  a  vile  smelling 
motor  car  down  the  road  in  a  hurry,  and  a  rattling  mowing 
maclune  to  the  other  side  of  the  field.  They  went  anywhere 
without  let  or  liindrance,  and  acted  as  if  they  were  it  all  the 
while.  If  a  big  foxhound  jumped  down  a  fourfoot  bank  into 
the  stream,  the  little  wire-haired  threw  himself  headlong  after. 
When  the  Master  rallied  the  hounds  to  the  "drag"  of  an  otter, 
the  little  brats  were  as  likely  as  not  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
fray. 

The  horn  has  sounded,  and,  headed  by  the  JVIaster,  Mr.  I. 
Rose,  the  skirmish  begins.  After  a  short  turn  down  stream, 
the  hounds  return  and  all  move  on  up  water,  the  followers  and 
hounds  about  equally  divided  on  either  bank  with  two  whip- 
pers-in  on  one  side  of  the  stream,  the  Master  with  another 
whipper-in  on  the  other  side. 

Hounds  were  making  good  every  inch  of  the  way,  some 
on  land,  some  swimming  along  either  bank,  poking  their 
sensitive  noses  in  every  recess  likely  to  have  harboured  an 
otter.  Up  the  stream  for  a  mile  or  more  go  the  followers,  in 
single  file  along  the  narrow  trails.    Presently,  an  otterhound 


238       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

gives  tongue  under  an  overhanging  clump  of  bushes  on  the 
right  bank.  Into  the  water  rush  the  hounds  from  either  shore, 
each  one  straining  to  obtain  a  nostril-full  of  the  seductive 
scent.  'Twas  a  false  report,  or  a  drag  so  old  as  not  to  be  con- 
sidered worth  mentioning,  and  a  hairy-faced  otterhound,  Sin- 
bad,  who  had  so  much  to  say  about  it,  was  reprimanded  by  the 
Master  with  "Now,  then,  Sinbad,  hold  j^our  tongue."  On  we 
go  for  another  forty  rods ;  meanwhile  most  of  the  hounds  have 
clambered  out  and  gone  racing  up  the  bank,  shaking  themselves 
free  of  water  that  flew  in  all  directions  Uke  sparks  from  a  pin- 
wheel.  Some  halted  and  braced  themselves  for  tliis  relief  while 
others  managed  it  as  they  went.  They  were  never  at  all  par- 
ticular where  they  shook  themselves,  and  the  ladies'  dresses 
often  took  up  a  good  shower  like  a  sponge ;  the  grass,  of  course, 
was  wet  from  their  dripping,  but  the  ladies  paid  not  the  slight- 
est heed  to  these  shower-baths  and  marched  on  through  the 
wet  grass  with  no  concern. 

Of  course,  there  were  fences  to  climb,  ditches  and  brooks 
to  be  jumped  or  forded.  As  a  rule,  ladies  are  as  awkward  at 
fence  climbing  as  a  cow  is  at  fiddhng.  Otter  hunting  ladies 
are  the  exception.  They  may  be  a  little  conscious  of  exhibit- 
ing a  pair  of  big  heavy  shoes  to  the  gentlemen  following  close 
beliind,  but  on  they  go,  bold,  resolute,  and  determined  to  keep 
their  places  in  the  ranks.  They  are  for  the  most  part  dressed 
for  their  work  and  out  for  business  and  fun.  Several,  how- 
ever, exhibited  a  more  feminine  weakness  by  appearing  in 
white  skirts.  They  looked  smart  and  clean  at  the  meet,  but 
they  must  have  relied  on  first  impressions  to  carry  them 
through,  for  by  the  time  they  had  been  passed  by  three  or  four 
hounds  shaking  muddy  water  at  them,  and  had  climbed  or 
crawled  through  a  few  fences  that  the  leaders  had  made  wet 
and  muddy,  they  looked  only  fit  for  a  wash-tub.  Still  they 
had  a  big  picture  hat  left  and  on  they  went  as  brave  and  free, 
if  not  as  stunning,  as  at  first.    Perhaps  it  was  their  first  essajs 


TUYINC    A    LIKELY    STREAM 


HELPINC    THE    LADIES    ACROSS 


A  Day  With  the  Essex  Otterhounds  239 

— bless  their  weakness  for  adornment,— and  they  will  know 
better  next  time. 

The  staff  is  a  great  assistance,  especially  in  vaulting  fences. 
With  one  hand  near  the  top  of  the  staff,  the  other  on  the  fence, 
one  can  go  over  a  fairly  high  fence  in  an  easy,  graceful  vault ; 
it  is  quite  as  indispensable  for  the  ladies  as  for  the  men.  It  is 
a  vaulting  pole  for  jumping  ditches,  a  steadying  staff  when 
stepping  from  stone  to  stone  over  shallow  brooks,  or  a  sound- 
ing pole  in  wading  a  stream.  As  we  move  up  stream  the  chal- 
lenge becomes  more  frequent  and  more  pronounced.  Half  of 
the  pack  are  now  owning  to  it  with  increasing  clamour.  They 
are  working  now  A\-ith  ever  greater  vigilance,  until,  presently, 
it  becomes  an  almost  unbroken  song,  the  otterhound  leading  in 
dei)th  of  voice,  the  Welsh  hound  excelling  in  sweetness,  and  the 
foxhound  in  melody;  what  a  grand  chorus!  Here  from  under 
a  clump  of  overhanging  bushes  comes  a  burst  of  hound  music 
followed  by  impatient  wliimperings,  then  charging  on  along  tlie 
shore  until  once  more  the  whole  pack  unites  in  one  tumultuous 
roar  that  brings  everyone  running  to  the  spot.  Again  the 
harmony  swells  to  a  climax  and  dies  away,  amid  fault-finding 
mutterings  and  scoldings,  disappointments,  like  the  fading 
echo  from  distant  hills. 

Thus  the  trail  moves  on  with  ever  increasing  interest. 
Halting,  trying  back,  and  again  going  forward.  The  hounds 
are  now  full  of  fire,  and  their  dash  and  drive,  through  brambles 
and  underbush,  are  something  beautiful  to  see.  And  again, 
when  some  reliable  hound  swimming  along,  suddenly  gives 
tongue,  all  the  other  hounds  ruiuiing  along  the  bank,  junij),  or 
rather  throw  themselves  heedlessly  into  the  stream,  three  to 
five  feet  below.  Splash,  si)lash,  three,  four  or  five  at  a  time, 
disappearing  beneath  the  water,  to  reappear  again,  giving 
tongue  to  the  scent  as  they  come  to  the  surface  with  a  mouth- 
ful of  water.  Then  again,  when  slipping  backwards  into  the 
stream  in  attempting  to  climb  out  at  some  wet,  shppery  or 


240       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

yielding  bank,  "ding-dong"  goes  their  tongue,  as  if  they  would 
sooner  die  in  the  attempt  than  neglect  to  proclaim  the  good 
news.  Time  and  again  some  hound  was  thus  seen  going  under 
with  a  flounder,  then  bravely  coming  to  the  surface  just  as 
another  hound  ahead  of  him  lost  liis  footing  and  fell  upon  him. 
Again  he  comes  up  like  an  otter,  with  more  than  half-drowned 
breath,  to  try  again  in  a  difi'erent  place,  only  to  repeat  the  fruit- 
less exertion.  Such  fortitude,  such  endurance,  and  amidst  it 
all,  such  manifestations  of  joy.  The  joy  of  hunting.  It  was 
indeed  a  glorious  sight!  There  is  no  form  of  hunting  with 
hounds  that  begins  to  equal  tliis  for  interest  and  excitement. 
Grand  and  inspiring  as  it  was  to  the  writer  and  most  of  the 
followers,  a  pretty  little  picture  was  enacted  at  this  point, 
that  showed  there  are  still  deeper  feelings  in  human  nature 
than  are  brought  out  in  the  most  exciting  moments  of  tliis 
most  exciting  chase.  Seated  on  the  opposite  bank,  along  which 
a  dozen  or  more  hounds  were  swimming  and  giving  tongue, 
were  a  sweetheart  and  her  lover,  oblivious  alike  to  the  "heavenly 
music"  of  the  eager  pack  and  the  passers-by.  In  the  midst 
of  all  they  saw  only  each  other,  heard  only  each  other.  There 
is  notliing  strange  or  unnatural  about  this.  It  was  the  same 
old  story,  the  interesting  part  of  it  was  that  it  must  have  been 
the  real  tiling,  for  if  an  English  youth  and  maiden  can  make 
love  to  each  other  oblivious  of  what  was  going  on  about  them 
on  such  an  occasion,  their  affection  each  for  the  other  must 
have  been  "the  pure  quill."  The  writer  wanted  very  much 
to  take  a  snapshot  of  the  pair,  but  it  seemed  too  good  to  go 
into  his  wicked  camera  and  he  let  it  pass.  All  the  world  is  in 
love  with  this  sort  and  so  it  should  be,  for— Hold  hard  there. 
Author.  Don't  you  hear  the  joyous  cry  of  "Tally-ho  otter" 
from  twenty  rods  up  water,  and  you  are  not  there  to  see  the 
first  "view  halloo."  It  serves  you  right,  you  will  never  make 
an  otter  hunter  if  you  run  riot  at  a  bit  of  love-making. 

On  rushes  the  crowd,  nearly  every  hound  taking  to  land 


A  Day  U'itli  the  Essex  Otterhounds  24.1 

that  he  may  get  on  the  faster.  A  few  old  rehable  hounds, 
however,  are  taking  their  time,  or  are  waiting  the  horn.  They 
Iiave  learned  that  by  the  time  you  see  an  otter  come  to  the 
surface,  he's  not  there.  The  next  time  he  shows  himself  he 
will  probably  be  many  rods  either  up  water  or  down. 

The  view  Tally-ho  was  near  a  large  elm  tree  that  leaned 
far  over  the  stream.  It  stood  on  the  very  brink  of  a  perpen- 
dicular bank,  which  at  this  ])oint  was  some  four  feet  above  the 
water.  It  was  about  the  roots  and  bank  beneath  this  tree 
that  the  hounds  had  gathered,  two  or  three  even  climbing  the 
slanting  trunk  for  twenty  feet  or  more,  giving  tongue  as  they 
went.  Those  in  the  water,  if  they  had  been  growing  more 
clamorous  as  the  drag  went  on,  were  now  at  the  very  climax 
of  rage  and  fury.  While  the  eagerness  of  the  hounds  for  scent 
of  fox  and  wild  deer  is  very  great,  that  of  the  otter  seems  to 
put  them  in  a  state  little  short  of  madness.  The  otterhounds, 
were  particularly  free  of  tongue,  especially  Gamester,  who  was 
many  times  corrected  by  the  JNIaster,  for  he  loved  too  well  to 
hear  tlie  notes  of  his  own  musical  voice,  which  went  clanging 
on  when  nearly  all  the  other  hounds  had  said  their  say.  "Game- 
.ster!  Gamester!  gently,  more  gently.  Gamester!"  calls  the 
Master;  then,  with  a  half-stifled  bay,  the  hound  plunges  on, 
muttering  to  himself.  In  the  water  at  the  roots  there  was  a 
regular  football  scrimmage,  while  on  the  bank  the  little  ter- 
riers were  digging  at  a  "holt"  or  "hover."  When  the  fury  of 
the  onslaught  had  somewhat  spent  itself,  the  Master  walked  on 
up  stream  calling  to  the  hounds,  which  reluctantly  obeyed. 
Even  then  some  of  them  kept  returning  to  the  tree  until  rated 
on  by  the  whippers-in.  From  now  on  for  the  next  forty  rods, 
hound  music  ceased.  This  brought  us  to  a  grist  mill.  The 
Master  tried  for  a  little  way  above  it  and  then  we  all  returned 
to  the  leaning  tree.  Again  the  hounds  proclaimed  the  find. 
This  seemed  to  settle  the  question  beyond  a  doubt.  Then  the 
IMaster  cast  back  or  down  water  for  fortv  rods  or  more,  work- 


242        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

ing  slowly  back  again  to  the  leaning  tree.  Then  from  the 
opposite  bank  he  waded,  waist  deep,  across  the  stream  for  a 
more  critical  examination  of  the  bank  under  the  tree.  By  prod- 
ding the  bank  under  water  a  "holt"  was  discovered,  and  as 
digging  was  out  of  the  question,  owing  to  the  roots,  some  one 
was  dispatched  to  the  mill  below  to  ask  the  owner  if  he  would 
draw  off  the  water  so  as  to  lower  the  stream  at  this  point,  which 
was  much  too  deep  for  successful  otter  hunting.  The  situation 
was  also  described  to  the  sport-loving  miller  above  this  point, 
and  straightwaj^  his  mill  ceased  turning. 

For  about  an  hour  now,  all  hands  gave  themselves  to  rest, 
gossip,  sandwiches,  and  tete-a-tetes,  against  cocks  of  new 
mown  hay.  Flirtations  and  love-making  are  not  to  be  men- 
tioned. 

However,  this  is  a  good  opportunity  to  look  over  the  crowd. 
Of  course,  there  were  at  the  meet  the  usual  number  of  truant 
boys  from  the  telegraph  office  and  shops,  townspeople  and  their 
servants,  farm  and  mill  hands  with  their  masters;  all  these, 
by  virtue  of  an  unwritten  law,  came  out  to  see  the  meet  start, 
followed,  perhaps,  for  a  field  or  two  and  returned  to  town  and 
work.  Nevertheless  there  were  still  on  the  battle  field  and  in 
the  thick  of  the  fight,  mothers  with  babes  in  their  arms;  expect- 
ant mothers  with  children  on  foot;  nurse  girls  with  weanlings 
hanging  to  their  hands  and  skirts ;  there  also  was  the  governess 
with  more  sturdy  lads  and  lasses  from  the  hall,  and  a  tutor 
with  a  couple  of  dull  ones  he  was  priming  for  college.  The 
young  doctor  was  there  without  his  case  and  the  curate  without 
his  Bible.  Such,  in  addition  to  the  regular  members  of  the 
hunt,  were  the  self-invited  and  very  welcome  contingent  who 
were  followers  for  the  day.  How  can  English  boys  and  girls 
help  being  sportsmen  when  their  mothers  transmit  to  them, 
before  they  are  born,  the  thrill  of  the  chase  with  which  their 
own  blood  is  charged,  and  who  feed  it  to  them  afterwards  from 
the  maternal  fount  as  they  sit  on  the  banks  of  an  otter  stream. 


MASTKH     \M'    HIS   PACK 


•ATCHING   THE   SCKNT 


A  Dan  ^f^'ff>  '^'^  Esse.v  Otterhounds  243 

(as  we  saw  tliem  tluit  day),  wliile  hounds  made  "heavenly 
music"  and  the  crowd  were  cheering  them  on^ 

No,  it  is  no  longer  a  wonder  that  England  is  such  a  delight- 
ful country  for  sport,  nor  that  her  children  are  the  hest  and 
keenest  and  most  genuine  sportsmen  in  the  world.  Their  blood 
is  charged  with  it,  they  take  it  with  their  food  and  the  air  they 
breathe  is  full  of  it.  The  writer  has  witnessed  many  interest- 
ing gatherings  in  the  hunting  field,  but  for  singling  out  men 
and  women  with  true  sporting  blood  and  for  bringing  up  boys 
and  girls  in  the  way  they  should  go  to  become  genuine  sports- 
men, otter  hunting  takes  the  lead. 

Hold  hard  there,  Author,  action  begins: 

"Once  more  the  tcclkin  rings,  hoimds,  men,  hills. 
Rocks  and  woods  in  fidl  concert  join." 

The  self-appointed  members  and  the  wliippers-in  have  sta- 
tioned themselves  on  either  bank  both  above  and  below  the  holt 
to  see  that  the  evasive  otter  does  not  go  away  unnoticed.  The 
INIaster  wading  across  the  stream,  which  is  still  nearly  leg  deep 
in  the  middle,  makes  another  investigation.  In  one  hand  he 
carries  Iiis  staff.  In  his  arms,  the  three,  wet,  dirty,  wire-haired 
terriers  are  squirming  in  their  eagerness  to  reach  the  holt; 
meanwhile  two  or  three  followers  go  into  the  water  about  the 
tree  to  keep  back  the  hounds  and  feel  if  they  cannot  see  the 
artful  otter  if  he  swims  ])ast  their  legs  under  water. 

It  was  rare  fun  to  see  the  courageous  little  terriers  charge 
these  holts,  one  on  the  bank,  the  other  at  the  hole,  which  was 
formerly  under  water  but  now  exposed.  How  they  did  make 
the  mud  and  dirt  fly  in  their  frantic  efforts  to  dig  their  way 
in;  but  the  numerous  roots  i)revented  their  entering  much  be- 
yond their  length.  Just  as  the  Master  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  take  off  the  terriers  and  resort  to  i)ick  and  shovel  there  was 
a  great  cry  from  twenty  or  more  rods  down  stream  "Tally  ho 


244       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Otter,  Tally  ho  Otter."  Hounds  and  followers  rushed  along 
down  stream  to  the  view-halloo,  then  on  further  down  to 
another  view.  Now  came  a  long  wait  with  much  swimming 
and  music  from  the  hounds.  Presently,  from  way  up  stream 
came  another  view,  and  tliis  time  some  distance  above  the 
leaning  tree,  and  so  it  went  on  for  three  whole  hours,  first  up 
stream,  then  down,  then  back  to  the  holt.  By  this  time  the 
followers  were  well  strung  out  on  either  bank,  for  possibly 
forty  rods  above,  and  as  far  below  the  slanting  tree.  Now  the 
^Master  cheers  on  the  hounds  and  the  game  grows  steadily  in 
interest  and  excitement.  Views  are  now  becoming  more  fre- 
quent up  stream,  then  down.  Finally  after  a  grand  rally  far 
up  stream,  in  which  direction  the  Master  was  always  endeavour- 
ing to  drive  the  enemy,  on  account  of  getting  him  into  more 
shallow  water,  a  dozen  men  followers  go  into  the  stream 
(standing  side  by  side,  forming  a  sort  of  fence  to  keep  the 
otter  from  again  going  down  stream).  The  water  here  was 
about  knee  deep.  From  now  on,  the  battle  was  a  hand-to-hand 
engagement.  The  otter  was  coming  more  often  to  the  surface 
to  breathe,  and  excitement  among  followers  and  hounds  was 
very  great.  Finally,  the  otter  came  up  in  rej.ch  of  a  hound 
called  Regent,  and  such  a  struggle  between  beast  and  game  I 
have  never  seen.  The  otter  went  under  and  the  hound  went 
with  him  and  stayed  with  him  until  he  brought  him  to  the  sur- 
face. By  this  time  the  other  hounds  had  gathered,  and  the 
death  struggle  began.  The  followers  were  cheering,  hounds 
were  furious,  wliile  the  melee  probably  seemed  greater  than  it 
was,  owing  to  its  being  in  the  water.  In  the  tliickest  of  the 
melee  the  little  wire-haired  terriers  were  ever  present.  In  grit 
and  daring  they  were  simply  marvellous.  Finally  the  INIaster 
succeeded  in  getting  the  otter  by  the  tail,  while  others  were 
engaged  in  whipping  off  the  hounds,  and  when  Ire  pulled  the 
otter  from  the  water  and  handed  him  up  the  bank  by  the  tail  the 
two  wire-hairs  were  hanging  to  the  carcase  like  leeches,  never 


THE     KILL 


TERKIKRS    HANCINc;    KROM    OTTKR 


A  Dal/   ]VUh   Ihc  Es.scw  Otterhounds  245 

letting  go  their  hold  until  they  were  brought  to  the  bank  and 
their  mouths  were  forced  open  by  a  staff.  The  trophies,  mask, 
pads,  pole,  were  presented  to  whomsoever  the  ]M aster  thought 
best,  which  included  the  writer,  adding  another  highly  prized 
trophy  to  his  collection. 

A  splendid  lunch  followed  at  a  fine  old  manor  house  near 
by,  and  the  writer,  at  least,  votes  his  first  day's  experience  after 
otter  as  one  of  the  most  interesting,  most  exciting  day's  sport 
he  has  ever  experienced  with  hounds. 


To  Capt.  John  Daly, 
Dublin,  Ireland. 

"He  tvas  bred  near  Dublin  City, 
Ay  he  can't  go  it's  a  jnty. 

And  he  walks  just  like  a  lady  tvith  her  sweetheart  at  a  ball: 
See  him  now  so  lightly  treading 
Like  a  flea  upon  your  bedding. 

Ah!  He'll  bear  yer  honour's  scarlet  through  a  run  without  a 
fall" 

Rhymes  in  Red. 
XXII 

FOX  HUNTING  IN  IRELAND 

THE  IRISH  HUNTER — HIS  BREEDING  AND  SCHOOLING — THE  GREAT 
DUBLIN  HORSE  SHOAV — BUYING  A  HUNTER. 

A  CHAPTER  on  Hunting  in  Ireland  would  be  most  in- 
'^*-  complete  if  it  did  not  have  a  good  deal  to  say  of  the 
Irish  hunter.  In  repeated  visits  to  the  Emerald  Isle,  the 
writer  has  had  the  best  of  opportunities  for  studying  the 
methods  of  horse  breeding,  feeding  and  schooling  that  have 
evolved  the  Irish  hunter  and  given  him  the  enviable  rej)uta- 
tion  of  being  the  best  of  his  kind  in  the  world. 

First  and  foremost  among  his  natural  advantages  is  the 
fact  that  he  comes  from  a  limestone  soil,  wliich  is  believed  to 
account  for  his  unusual  growth  of  bone.  Secondly,  that  he 
is  nearly  clean  thoroughbred  in  breeding,  which  accounts  for 
his  perfect  saddle  conformation,  and  liis  Monderful  endurance 
distinguishing  him  in  any  hunting  field  in  Great  Britain  above 
all  others.    As  a  rule,  he  is  a  rather  plain  looking  horse  with  a 


Fox  Hunting  in  Ireland  247 

large  head  and  ragged  hips;  while  there  is,  occasionall}-,  a  real 
good  looking  one.  the  majority  have  little  to  boast  of  in  that 
partieular.  His  motto  seems  to  he,  handsome  is  that  handsome 
does,  and  on  that  ground  he  shines  supreme.  His  mother  is 
generally  seven-eighths,  fifteen-sixteentlis  or  thirty-one  thirty- 
seconds  thoroughbred,  his  cold  blood  coming  through  carty 
farm  mares,  to  which  he  sometimes  throws  back  in  some  one 
particular,  perhaps  such  as  in  the  feet  or  head.  Sometimes  he 
looks  very  carty  behind  and  breedy  in  front,  or  vice  versa,  and 
sometimes  he  comes  out  nothing  but  a  weedy  thoroughbred; 
still  these  are  the  exception.  As  the  American  trotter  is  the 
best  representative  of  the  character  of  the  xVmerican  people 
who  produced  him,  so  too  has  the  Irish  hunter  accjuired  a  char- 
acter decidedly  Irish.  He  is,  in  a  word,  a  light-hearted  devil- 
may-care  creature  that  is  always  ready  for  a  harum-scarum 
cross-country  racket,  which  he  thoroughly  enjoys.  His  heart 
is  in  the  game  from  start  to  finish.  What  he  can't  jump,  he 
crawls  over  or  smashes  through.  He  is  just  reckless  enough  to 
think  nothing  of  himself,  and  heedless  enough  to  go  where  he 
is  sent,  regardless  of  how  or  in  what  form  he  is  to  land.  A 
cross-country  lark  suits  him  to  perfection.  He  is,  as  the  say- 
ing goes,  "Seldom  sick  and  never  sorry."  With  such  a  char- 
acter it  may  be  easily  understood  that  the  Irish  hunter  is  a 
born  cross-country  horse  to  begin  with. 

Now  we  come  to  his  schooling.  His  mother  and  his 
"granny,"  as  they  say  in  Ireland,  were  themselves  ridden  to 
hounds  by  the  Irish  tenant  farmers  who  owned  them.  They 
were  mated  in  the  spring,  many  of  them  before  the  hunting 
season  was  over,  and  hunted  during  the  fore  part  of  the  fol- 
lowing autumn.  Then  they  were  turned  to  pasture,  where 
they  droj)  their  foals  the  following  spring.  In  many  parts 
of  Ireland  the  ])asture  lands  Avere  formerly  small  enclosin-es 
of  from  two  to  ten  acres,  and  were  divided  one  from  the  other 
by  sod  bank  fences,  or  stone  walls,  which  at  the  present  time 


248       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

are  as  a  rule,  in  a  very  dilapidated  condition.  The  brood  mare 
with  a  foal  at  foot  can  go  from  one  enclosure  to  another  at 
will.  These  old  stone  fences  of  course  they  jump.  They 
jump  on  top  of  others  and  jump  down  again  on  the  opposite 
side.  If  the  top  of  the  bank  is  wide  enough,  they  stop  there 
sometimes  like  a  goat  to  pick  what  grass  they  can  reach  before 
they  descend.  Readers  of  "Cross  Country  with  Horse  and 
Hound"  may  recall  the  great  importance  the  writer  attaches 
to  tliis  early  training  of  foals  at  foot.  It  was  with 
pleasure,  therefore,  that  he  afterwards  found  in  Ireland  so 
much  to  corroborate  his  own  ideas  of  the  advantages  thus 
gained. 

In  the  tumble-down  wall  country  they  jump  the  low  fences 
or  pick  their  way  carefully  over  the  tumbled  down  places. 
Then  again  on  the  rugged  commons  back  from  the  sea  there 
are  ravines  to  climb  out  of,  so  that  by  the  time  a  colt  is  two  or 
three  years  old,  what  he  doesn't  know  about  getting  over  banks, 
stone  walls  and  ditches  is  hardly  worth  mentioning. 

Hunters  by  breeding,  hunters  by  instinct,  hunters  by 
natural  training,  not  only  do  they  know  how  to  negotiate  these 
fences  but  their  natural  habits  have  given  them  nerve  and 
courage.  They  cannot  see  what  is  on  the  opposite  side  of  a 
bank  but,  no  matter,  if  they  can  get  up  on  it  there  must  be  a 
way  to  get  off  it. 

So  much  for  the  soil,  climate,  breeding  and  natural  sur- 
roundings that  in  every  way  help  to  develop  an  animal  to  the 
manner  born. 

Now  we  come  to  the  part  played  by  the  o^vner.  First  of 
all.  the  Irishman  has  the  best  of  hands,  and  more  horse  sense 
than  any  other  nationality  the  writer  has  ever  met  with.  They 
have  bred  horses,  thought  horses  and  talked  horses  for  so  many 
generations  that  they  have  very  keen  horse  instinct.  In  some 
parts  they  use  principally  a  single  rein  bridle  on  a  curb  or 
Pelham  bit.    When  a  man  has  a  seat  so  secure  and  hands  so 


F(hv  Hiiutiiif/  in  Jrclnnd  249 

good  as  to  break  a  colt  with  such  a  l)it.  he  is  not  far  from  being 
an  artist  of  tlie  jjigskiii,  and  a  horseman  comi)lete. 

The  story  of  the  (levelo])ment  of  the  Irish  hunter  accounts 
for  his  coohiess,  boUhiess,  hght-heartedness,  native  wit,  and 
wisdom.  It  accounts  also  for  his  great  will  power,  high  temper 
and  judgment. 

To  these  extraordinary  combinations  we  may  generall_y 
add,  if  Irish  schooled  he  will  have  a  light  mouth  with  the  best 
of  manners. 

\\niile  it  must  not  be  imagined  this  is  a  description  of  every 
Irish  horse  that  is  sold  as  such,  they  are  the  general  character- 
istics that  have  won  for  the  race  the  distinction,  as  above 
stated,  of  being  the  best  of  their  kind.  Still,  after  all  has 
been  said,  the  great  Dublin  Horse  Show  is  quite  a  disappoint- 
ment so  far  as  high  class  animals  are  concerned,  at  least  the 
show  of  1904  was  decidedly  so  to  the  writer.  Several  reasons 
are  assigned  for  this: — First,  the  war  in  South  Africa  is  said 
to  have  taken  away  too  many  hunter-bred  mares;  second, 
English  dealers  have  men  scouring  the  country,  picking  up  the 
plums  as  fast  as  they  are  ready  for  market;  again,  the  princi- 
pal entries  for  the  show  are  made  from  what  is  left  and  the 
cheaper  grade  of  horses,  entered  with  the  object  of  selling  them. 
The  fair  is,  therefore,  a  sale  fair  quite  as  much  as,  if  not  more 
than,  an  exhibition.  There  were,  in  1904,  eleven  hundred  and 
fifty-six  entries,  most  of  them  exhibited  in  the  saddle  classes, 
and  at  least  fifty  per  cent  of  this  great  number  were  not 
hunters  at  all  in  conformation,  but  simply  hacks  and  most  of 
them  harness  types,  pure  and  simple.  So  much  of  this  sort 
lends  suspicion  as  to  their  being  Irish-bred.  Many  of  them 
looked  decidedly  Yankee.  At  least,  one  could  chop  off  the 
tails  and  pull  the  manes  of  five  hundred  grade  trotting  bred 
horses  in  the  States,  and  make  the  same  inconsistent  show  of 
saddle  horses  that  was  .seen  in  about  one  third  of  the  animals 
at  the  Dublin  Horse  Show.     The  truth  is.  the  Irish  breeders 


250       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

have  been  parting  too  freelj^  with  the  goose  that  lays  the  golden 
egg,  and  to  keep  up  the  supply,  we  fear  they  have  fallen  into 
evil  ways.  There  are  a  great  many  very  high  class  animals 
to  be  seen  at  the  Dublin  show  and,  with  the  weedy  hacks  and 
harness  types  thrown  out,  it  is  still  the  greatest  show  of  the 
kind  in  the  world,  and  ought  to  be  included  in  the  sights  worth 
seeing  by  every  American  visitor,  who  happens  to  be  in  Great 
Britain  at  the  time.  Nevertheless,  barring  mere  numbers, 
there  are  more  high  class  hunters  to  be  seen  at  the  great  York- 
shire show  in  England  than  in  Dublin. 

Not  the  least  amusing  part  of  an  American's  experience 
in  Ireland  will  be  the  buying  of  a  hunter,  especially  if  he  goes 
as  a  stranger  among  some  of  the  breeders,  or  smaller  "Job- 
masters," as  the  dealers  are  called. 

We  were  well  advised  in  this  respect  before  we  started  out. 
We  cannot  do  better,  perhaps,  in  bringing  this  chapter  to  a 
close,  than  repeat  in  substance  sufficient  of  the  horse  talk  that 
usually  accompanies  such  a  sale. 

"Can  she  jump?"  "Is  it  leap  that  ye  mean,  faith  and  a 
house  would  not  stop  her  if  ye  have  the  courage  to  jDut  her 
at  it."  "What's  her  breeding?"  "Is  it  a  pedigi-ee  that  yer 
wanting?"  "Yes,  bedad,  she  has  and  two  of  them.  Her  father 
was  by  Erin  Gabrah  and  he's  got  a  pedigree  that  long  a  book 
couldn't  hold  it."  "And  his  dam?"  "Yes,  and  that's  what 
I'm  telling  j^e,  his  dam  was  the  best  mare  in  Ireland,  won  no 
end  of  races,  so  she  did,  and  her  father  and  mother  before 
her,  since  the  days  of  the  ark."  "Did  she  come  over  in  the 
ark?"  "Faith,  if  any  horse  ever  did,  it  was  her  or  her  father. 
Have  a  lad  up,  or  try  her  j^erself  for  a  turn  about  the  pasture. 
A  child  of  three  years  could  ride  her  and  a  silk  thread  would 
never  break  for  the  holding  of  her  and  yer  couldn't  make  her 
do  wrong  to  save  yer  soul."  The  mare  was  saddled,  and  it  was 
evident  she  had  little  or  no  experience  at  all;  in  fact,  she  was 
but  four  past,  and  in  all  probability  had  not  been  ridden  a 


Fox  lluniintj  in  Ireland  251 

dozen  times  in  her  life.  "Quietest  mare  in  the  world," 
said  the  owner,  as  the  mare  was  led  up  to  be  mounted,  "not 
a  trick  or  vice,  and  never  was  sick  or  sorry  since  she  was 
foaled." 

The  mare  proved,  as  we  expected,  thoroughly  green  but 
she  seemed  to  have  the  making  of  a  good  one. 

"How  much?"  "And  is  it  the  price  o'  her  that  yer  asking? 
Faith  I'm  thinking  o'  keeping  her  for  the  Dublin  show,  she'll 
win  first  prize  there  to  be  sure;  come  away  and  don't  be  tempt- 
ing me  with  money." 

"What  do  j'ou  ask  for  her?"  "Oh,  now  ye  haven't  the  heart 
to  be  coaxing  the  likes  o'  that  away  from  me.  She's  the  best 
mare  in  Ireland,  and  she  cost  me  a  clean  hundred  guineas  and 
was  the  cheapest  mare  at  the  money  I  ever  bought.  But  yer 
a  dacent  sort,  so  yer  are,  and  a  good  judge  of  horseflesh.  INIake 
me  an  offer  and  if  I  can  live  by  it  and  have  a  bit  of  corn  for 
my  pig,  ye  shall  have  her."  "Eighty  pounds."  "Eighty 
pounds!  why,  man  dear,  yer  only  joking!  Eighty  pounds,  and 
her  with  a  pedigree  the  length  of  a  yardstick.  INIake  it  a  hun- 
dred and  you  can  have  her.  No!  Well,  now  don't  be  hard, 
say  ninety-five;  there  now,  I  can't  say  more,  can  I?  Shure 
and  yer  not  going  aAvay  without  the  mare,  call  it  ninety  pounds 
and  have  finished  with  it.  She'll  bring  me  two  hundred  at  the 
Dublin  show  the  week  after  next.  Wait  a  minute,  sure  man, 
yer  not  going  away  without  giving  me  the  pleasure  of  drink- 
ing to  yer  health.  Now  then,  come  along  in  and  don't  be  shy 
of  a  bit  of  good  Irish  whiskey.  Plain  water  or  soda?  Soda, 
right  you  are,  and  now  sure,  man,  ye'll  not  be  leaving  the  best 
mare  in  Ireland.  INIake  it  ninety  guineas.  No!  bedad,  I'll 
say  pounds  just  to  please  you.  It's  a  bargain,  do  you  say?  No, 
well  I  know  yer  a  man  of  rare  sense  aTid  a  good  judge,  make  it 
the  ninety  pounds  and  I'll  put  in  a  good  halter  and  a  rug,  so 
I  will.  Eighty-five,  is  that  your  very  best  ?  Ah !  There's  my 
hand,  she's  yours.    Faith  and  ye  are  a  lucky  man.    No!  Well. 


252       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

won't  ye  give  any  more?    Well,  man  dear,  make  it  guineas  for 
luck  and  she's  yours."    And  so  it  was  settled,  eighty  guineas. 

"A  high  price  is  paid  for  that  winsome  mare. 
The  farmer  seems  pleased  with  the  day. 
And  on  his  way  home  he  is  heard  to  declare. 
He'll  buy  a  new  dress  for  his  missis  to  wear. 
And  take  her  to  toxmi  to  the  play." 

The  difficulty  in  buying  an  Irish  hunter  in  England  is 
first,  the  very  liigh  jirice  that  is  asked  and  received  for  the 
best,  and  secondly,  English  hunters,  even  if  Irish  bred,  that 
have  been  hunted  at  all  in  England  are,  for  that  very  reason, 
quite  disqualified  for  hunting  in  America.  English  fences 
are  invariably  hedges,  ninety-five  per  cent  of  English  cross 
country  riders  shun  timber  as  they  would  the  ways  of  Satan. 

Horses  hunted  in  England  invariably  brush  through  the 
tops  of  hedge  fences.  When  they  go  to  America  and  try 
the  same  trick  on  the  stiff  posts,  and  rail  and  rider  fences,  they 
come  to  grief.  A  horse  is  such  a  slave  to  habit,  he  can  seldom 
be  relied  upon  to  overcome  one  thoroughly. 

It  is  far  better  in  buying  English  or  Irish  bred  horses  for 
hunting  in  America  to  buy  them  unbroken. 

If  a  schooled  hunter  is  required,  they  had  better  come  from 
the  stone  wall  countries  of  Ireland,  where  they  learn  to  jump 
clear. 


There's  vinni/  a  .slip  'twi^rf  the  cup  and  the  lip. 

And  mall//  a  f(dl  in  the  field : 
Bui  there's  man//  a  (/allop  that  follows  a  trip. 

And  man//  a  xcound  that's  healed. 

XXIII 
A  DAY  WITH  THE  MEATH  HOUNDS 

TIPPEBARY — DIFFICULTIES  OX  THE  ^YAY — AN  EXCITING  DRI^-E — 
THE   MEET — IN   AN    IRISH   BOG — A   COUPLE   OF  LOST   SOULS. 

TT'S  fixed  and  as  slick  as  a  lick  of  paint,"  said  Captain 
*■  Daly,  "you  are  to  ride  to  Tipperary.  So  be  into  your 
hunting  clothes  when  the  cock  crows  at  six;  give  your  mind  to 
ease,  for  I'll  be  there  to  fetch  you." 

The  writer  remonstrated,  for  Tipperary  was  the  Cai)taiirs 
favourite  mare.  Stories  of  her  wonderful  jumping,  staying 
qualities,  and  speed  had  reached  him  a  month  before,  in 
England,  where  a  friend  had  said,  "If  the  Captain  gives  you 
a  mount  on  Tipperary,  you  will  surely  have  the  daj'  of  your 
life." 

The  writer  remonstrated  against  taking  such  a  horse,  but 
the  Captain  dismissed  it  with,  "Come  now,  don't  disappoint 
me.  I'm  to  ride  Colonel  So  and  So's  horse.  The  Colonel  is 
laid  up,  but  wants  his  horse  to  go  out,  so  he'll  not  be  so  far 
above  himself  when  he  wants  him  again." 

The  next  morning  the  Captain  drove  u])  in  an  Irish  "Jaunt- 
ing car"  and  we  went  "nipping  along"  to  the  station,  right 
smart.  A  game  or  two  of  nap  on  the  train  made  the  time  pass 
quickly. 


254       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"Lord  save  us, — here  we  are!"  cried  the  Captain,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  and  there  was  a  husthng  for  coats  as  the 
train  was  already  at  a  halt.  The  Captain  stopped  to  give 
directions  to  the  stable  boy  where  to  bring  our  horses.  There 
was  but  one  cab  left  waiting  at  the  station,  and  that  a  han- 
som into  M'hich  a  man  had  already  entered.  Nothing  daunted, 
up  rushes  the  Captain  to  inquire  if  the  stranger  was  going  to 
the  meet  and  if  we  could  ride.  "Come  in,"  said  the  man  with- 
out more  ado  and  away  we  went.  It  seemed  this  particular 
gentleman  was  a  little  overstocked  with  Irish  malt.  He  wore 
a  dress  suit  and  was  just  getting  home  from  an  "all  night," 
as  he  called  it,  with  the  boys.  We  drove  smartly  on  until 
the  Captain  looked  out  and  said,  "Where  the  devil  are  we 
going?"  "To  my  house,"  said  our  host,  "to  take  lunch  with 
me."  "But  we  do  not  want  to  go  to  your  house,  we  want  to  go 
to  the  meet."  "Why  didn't  you  mention  it  sooner?"  said  our 
host,  who,  seated  in  the  middle,  began  poking  his  umbrella 
up  in  front  as  a  signal  for  the  driver  to  stop.  "Now  we  are 
in  a  fix,"  said  the  Captain.  "We  are  going  the  wrong  way 
altogether,  man,  we'll  be  late  to  the  meet." 

"Drive  us  to  the  meet,"  said  our  host  to  the  cabby.  "I'll 
see  you  safely  there,  gentlemen,"  said  he.  As  the  cab 
straightened  out  in  the  opposite  direction,  our  host  began  quilt- 
ing the  old  nag  on  the  broad  sides  with  liis  umbrella  as  if  he 
were  beating  a  carpet. 

"Give  yourselves  rest  to  your  minds,  gentlemen,  I'll  stay 
with  you  to  the  death."  Whack!  goes  the  umbrella,  but  after  a 
time  our  horse,  who  had  been  doing  his  best  for  some  time, 
failed  to  respond.  Our  host  then  proceeded  to  stab  him  with 
the  ferrule  end  of  his  umbrella.  This  touched  a  new  spot  and 
we  went  away  at  renewed  speed  with  roars  of  laughter.  As 
we  went  along  in  tliis  noisy  fashion  all  the  curs  turned  in  to  yelp 
and  cheer  our  progress.  This  encouraged  our  host,  and  he 
jabbed  again,  but,  instead  of  answering  to  the  thrust  by  going 


A  Day  With  the  Mcath  Hounds  2.55 

ahead,  the  old  nag  resented  this  protl  at  the  roots  of  his  tail, 
his  fore  feet  stopped  going  ahead,  while  his  hind  feet  went  for 
the  umbrella.  In  an  instant  two  bright  horse  shoes  came 
straight  through  the  dashboard  and  stopped  only  within  an 
inch  of  our  obliging  host's  nose.  The  umbrella  was  a  wreck, 
and  we  were  all  in  a  shower  of  sjilinters,  for  the  dashboard  was 
in  kindling  wood. 

Cabby  pulled  up  short  and  our  host  began  to  swear  and  take 
on  at  the  loss  of  his  umbrella.  Cabby's  view  of  Avhat  had  been 
going  on  had  been  hidden  by  the  top.  He  reined  uj)  to  the 
side  of  the  road,  jumped  down,  and  began  to  ajwlogise.  "I 
never  knew  that  horse  to  do  such  a  thing  before,"  said  he,  "I 
am  awful  sorry,  sir."  "He  won't  do  it  again,"  said  the  Cap- 
tain. "So  hurry  along,  my  man,  and  there'll  be  an  extra  half- 
crown  to  you  if  you  get  us  at  the  meet  in  time."  Our  host  was 
for  prodding  the  old  nag  some  more,  but  the  Captain  inter- 
fered. "Who  is  paying  for  this  game?"  inquired  our  host.  "I 
am,"  replied  the  Captain.  "Not  much,  didn't  I  invite  you 
to  ride  with  me?"  and  it  looked  as  if  a  row  was  in 
pickle,  but  the  Captain  headed  it  off  with  a  call  to  the 
driver  to  "Stop  at  the  first  '\Vetting-up  ])lace,'  "  where  the 
troubled  waters  subsided.  While  this  went  on  the  Captain 
had  spoken  privately  to  the  barmaid.  Then  he  himself  took 
a  drink  out  to  cabljy.  He  M'hispered  to  the  writer  on  his 
return  to  jump  in  the  cab.  Hardly  was  the  latter  seated,  when 
after  him  bolted  the  Captain.  Away  went  cabby,  leaving 
our  host  standing  at  the  bar  with  another  drink  coming. 

"How  did  you  manage?"  "Oh!  I  told  the  barmaid  to  keep 
him  there,  that  cabby  would  come  back  for  him.  I  gave  a  tip 
to  cabby  when  I  brought  him  his  grog.  Holy  smoke!"  broke 
off  the  Captain,  "but  wasn't  that  a  close  call?  The  umbrella 
just  saved  our  friend  from  getting  it  full  in  the  face.  So  that 
is  settled  but,  confound  it,  we  are  late."  As  luck  would  have 
it  the  riders  came  our  way  and  last  of  all  came  Tijjpcrary  and 


256       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

the  Captain's  mount,  and  we  were  soon  in  the  saddles.  On  a 
rise  of  ground  a  little  beyond  were  a  hundred  or  more  peasants, 
men,  women  and  children,  every  one  armed  with  a  shillaly,  or 
something  to  shy  at  the  fox.  By  this  time,  we  had  worked  our 
way  well  to  the  front  and  the  hounds  entering  a  bit  of  second 
growth  timber,  three  or  four  acres,  almost  instantly  began  to 
show  signs  of  giving  tongue.  "Look  sharp,"  cried  the  Captain, 
"we'll  be  off  in  a  minute,  and  whatever  you  do,  for  heaven's 
sake,  keep  out  of  the  bogs.  If  you  get  into  one  once  you  go 
plum  to  China  before  you  touch  bottom.  Have  no  fear  of 
Tipperary,  give  a  roar  at  her  and  there  is  not  a  bank  in  Ireland 
to  stop  her." 

Hark!  "A  tally-ho-gone  away,"  from  the  other  side  of  the 
bush.  Tipperary  was  held,  facing  a  thicket,  to  keep  her  quiet 
as  possible,  till  the  hounds  gave  tongue.  Such  a  roaring  and 
hollering  as  went  up  from  the  foot  people  when  the  "gone 
away"  was  heard  by  them — you  would  have  thought  each  one 
had  a  fox  of  his  own  to  cheer.  No  fox  ever  left  a  covert  any- 
where in  the  world  with  such  a  delirious  mob  to  put  him  on 
foot. 

The  Master  began  hollering  "Hold  hard!  hold  hard!"  but 
only  one  man  obeyed  and  he  was  the  Yankee,  a  tenderfoot  to 
the  game  as  it  is  played  in  Ireland.  "Pay  no  attention  to  him," 
shouted  the  Captain,  "he  was  born  hollering."  That  is  what 
Tipjierary  thought  also,  for,  unable  to  withstand  restraint  any 
longer,  she  stood  straight  up  in  her  tracks  and  began  clawing 
the  air  with  her  fore  feet  like  a  pantomime  actor  climbing  a 
rope.  Presently,  she  came  down  to  the  earth  again,  her  b.ead 
still  facing  the  thicket,  when  another  great  roar  went  up  from 
the  foot  people,  the  hounds  gave  tongue,  and  with  a  mighty 
spring,Tipperary  jumped  straight  into  the  thicket.  This  was 
so  unexpected  the  rider  was  nearly  dislodged. 

The  delirium  of  the  moment  was  upon  her,  go  she  would 
and  go  she  did,  straight  through  the  underbrush  in  the  most 


A  Bail  With  the  Meath  Hounds  257 

direct  way  of  reacliing  hounds.  She  said,  as  plainly  as  lan- 
guage could  speak,  "Please  yourself,  sir,  but  brush,  or  no  brush, 
I  am  going." 

If  the  first  jump  into  the  thicket  scratched  the  writer's 
eyes  out,  the  ne.xt  one  scratched  them  in  again.  His  white  hunt- 
ing breeches  were  green  from  bumping  against  moss-covered 
saplings,  his  hat  came  off,  the  hat  cord  parted  company  with 
it,  his  face  was  scratched  and  bleeding  from  a  dozen  wounds. 
On  went  Tipperary  througli  the  brush  to  the  river  bank,  where 
the  water  was  only  knee  deep,  and  she  cantered  straight 
through  it,  but  it  sobered  her  some  before  she  gained  the 
opposite  bank,  at  least,  her  uncontrollable  effervescence  had 
found  a  vent,  like  steam  from  a  safety  valve,  and  had  reduced 
the  pressure  to  the  safety  point,  and  we  arrived  at  the  first 
check  on  the  best  of  terms. 

"Look  as  if  you  had  been  fighting  with  cats,"  said  the 
Captain  when  we  came  together.  "Where  is  your  hat?"  "I 
don't  know,  and  that's  not  all,  wherever  it  is,  there  it  may 
stay.  That  Tipperary  didn't  jump  out  of  her  skin  at  such 
a  racket  shows  she  is  liide  bound.  She  jumped  me  out  of  a 
good  portion  of  mine,  as  you  see  by  my  face  and  you  will  find 
it  hanging  on  some  blackthorn  bushes  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river  near  my  hat.  Go  find  my  hat  and  miss  this  run? — 
not  for  a  hundred  such  hats;  besides  it  is  where  the  bushes  are 
so  thick  a  bird  could  not  fly  through  them.  Don't  ask  me  how 
I  came  to  be  in  there,  I'll  tell  all  about  it  when  we  get  home." 

We  were  soon  off  again,  and  the  Captain  kept  the  writer 
in  sight  for  the  next  few  fields,  where  he  finally  cut  loose  for 
himself.  The  run  seemed  to  be  a  succession  of  short  dashes 
and  checks,  dismounting  only  to  mount  again  and  be  off, 
which  reminds  us  of  the  Irishman,  who  was  taken  to  task  for 
making  too  long  a  report  of  a  railway  wreck.  If  brevity  is 
really  the  soul  of  wit,  here  it  is  in  his  next  report — "No.  Eight 
off  again;  on  again;  gone  again.    Finnegan." 


258       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

We  were  "off  again  and  on  again  and  gone  again."  Rider 
and  mount  had  just  settled  down  to  a  smart  hard  gallop  and 
were  both  enjoying  the  exliilarating  sea  air  as  we  drove  through 
it  in  the  ecstasy  of  the  chase. 

The  writer  had  discovered  one  thing,  that  wliile  Tipperary 
was  a  model  of  a  hunter  in  many  respects,  she  had  a  toeakness, 
and  that  was  the  strength  of  her  will.  When  she  proceeded 
to  take  matters  into  her  own  hands  and  decided  for  herself,  to 
say  she  had  a  mind  of  her  own  is  putting  it  very  mildly.  We 
were  sailing  along  like  a  yacht  to  a  heehng  breeze,  with  about 
all  the  sail  she  can  comfortably  carry.  We  were  in  the  wake 
of  a  woman  riding  a  grey  hunter,  but  when  about  to  overtake 
her  it  was  discovered  that  Tipperary  and  the  rider  had  dis- 
tinctly contrary  views  about  slowing  down.  For  some  reason 
the  grey  or  its  rider  had  a  particular  attraction  for  Tipper- 
ary. When  it  came  to  slowing  up  a  bit  as  we  approached 
a  bank,  for  fear  of  getting  too  close  and  jumping  on  to  the 
fair  rider,  should  she  come  to  grief  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
bank,  Tipperary  would  have  none  of  it. 

The  lady  and  the  grey  were  on  the  best  of  terms — a  couple 
of  sportsmen  who  knew  each  other  and  the  country.  Tip- 
perary would  not  slacken  and  when  she  Avas  asked  to  turn  to  the 
right  her  head  answered  to  the  pull  but  her  body  was  still  steer- 
ing straight  for  the  grey.  A  big  bank  was  before  us  and  this 
must  not  go  on,  so  liitting  Tipperary  a  clip  with  the  hunting 
crop  seemed  the  only  thing  to  do  to  drive  her  to  the  right  and 
past,  or  at  least  alongside,  the  grey.  Answering  to  tliis  touch 
of  the  crop,  she  veered  to  the  right  and  leaped  upon  the  bank 
like  the  flight  of  a  frightened  stag,  touching  the  top  lightly 
with  each  foot  to  insure  her  balance,  but  "Saints  and  ISIinisters 
of  grace  defend  us!" — the  drop  landed  us  in  a  narrow  lane. 
Another  bank  faced  Tipperary  as  high  as  herself,  but  she 
never  hesitated  or  wavered. 

She  landed  in  the  lane  on  all  four  feet,  and  as  if  her  legs 


A  Day  With  the  Meath  Hounds  259 

were  springs,  or  as  if  she  were  jumping  from  the  end  of  a 
spring  hoard,  slie  arose  again  in  the  air,  Ughting  airily  on  the 
top  of  the  next  hank,  then  dropping  into  the  next  field  with  the 
greatest  of  ease. 

The  difficulty  was  then  appaient ;  the  grey  had  been  head- 
ing for  a  part  of  the  fence  easily  jumpable,  which  landed  in 
the  corner  of  the  next  field  where  there  was  no  lane.  Tipper- 
ary  evidently  knew  this  corner,  and  was  making  for  it,  and 
might  have  followed  the  grey  and  no  harm  come  of  it.  The 
Captain,  no  doubt,  would  have  taken  the  risk,  knowing  a  sure- 
footed horse  was  before  him  and  that  Tipperary  never  made 
a  mistake.  Well,  there  we  were  in  the  field  of  ploughed  land, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  jump  back  into  the  lane,  stop 
there  and  go  out  through  the  gate  in  the  end  of  it,  into  the 
field  where  the  lady  and  the  grey  had  gone.  The  return  jump 
was  also  against  Tij)perary's  judgment,  her  idea  being  to  go 
on  after  hounds,  and  she  seemed  to  argue  that  if  she  could 
jump  into  a  field  she  could  jump  out  of  it  again,  and  to  turn 
back  was  only  a  waste  of  time.  Three  times  she  refused  to 
jump  the  bank  back  into  the  lane. 

"Give  a  roar  at  her,"  cried  an  Irish  laboui'er,  "give  a  roar  at 
her."  So  at  it  we  went  again,  but  a  roar  from  the  rider  was  like- 
wise ineffectual.  Then  out  came  three  labourers  into  the  field, 
one  stood  behind,  one  on  each  side,  and  with  hands  full  of  soil 
from  one,  a  shillaly  from  another,  and  a  roar  and  swinging  of 
arms  from  all  three,  Tipperary  scrambled  up  the  bank  and 
there  she  stopped.  Then  taking  matters  into  her  own  hands 
again,  walked  a  few  steps  along  the  top  and  let  herself  easily 
down  into  the  lane.  The  gate  was  locked,  but  the  labourers 
lifted  it  from  its  hinges,  opened  it  wrong  end  to,  and  after 
receiving  a  suitable  reward,  sent  us  off  again  with  a  cheer. 

There  are  some  days  when  trouble  won't  be  pacified  with 
one  or  two  attempts  to  do  us.  This  was  the  writer's  day.  We 
were  "on  again  and  off  again,"  when  the  first  tiling  the  writer 


260       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

knew,  Tipperary  was  taking  the  last  stride  that  would  land  her 
into  a  bog.  O  lord  and  Tipperary,  the  Captain's  favourite 
horse  and — "Whatever  you  do,"  he  said,  "For  Heaven's  sake 
keep  out  of  the  bog.  You  will  never  touch  bottom  until  you 
land  in  China." 

Whatever  would  happen?  What  a  flood  of  things  go 
through  the  niind,  visions  of  sinking,  sinking,  that  horrible 
death,  or  at  best  being  pulled  out  by  ropes  and  tackle,  while 
you  listen  to  all  the  uncomplimentary  remarks  of  the  natives 
concerning  the  tenderfoot's  dilemma.  And  the  Captain — it 
seemed  as  if  it  would  be  easier  to  sink  at  once  and  die  rather 
than  to  see  him  looking  on  such  a  scene  from  the  bank.  For- 
tunately, the  bog  was  only  about  ten  or  twelve  feet  across. 
Hope  that  came  hke  a  straw  to  a  drowning  man,  said  "The 
footing  might  hold."  But  it  was  not  to  be.  Tipperary  saw 
what  was  coming,  and  braced  herself  for  the  plunge.  Into  it 
she  went  leg  deep  and  stopped.  When  Tijiperary  went  down, 
the  awful  consequences  of  such  a  death-trap  swept  the  writer's 
brain  clear  of  thoughts.  Instinct  and  self-preservation  were 
alone  in  command.  The  writer  takes  no  credit  to  himself  for 
the  actions  that  directed  his  course.  There  was  no  time  to 
tliink,  self-preservation  did  it  all.  As  the  noble  beast  settled  in 
the  black  trap  the  writer  threw  himself  headlong  forward,  so 
as  to  land  sprawling  on  all  fours,  rather  than  on  his  feet,  and 
well  to  the  right  of  the  struggling  mount,  as  the  best  possible 
position  to  avoid  sinking  himself.  In  this  position  he  wriggled 
and  scrambled  along  to  the  opposite  bank  (rather  to  solid 
ground,  for  this  bog  hole  was  all  on  the  level) ,  keeping  as  much 
of  his  body  toucliing  the  surface  as  possible.  Tipperary,  leg 
deep  in  the  awful  trap,  was  floundering  after. 

By  tugging  at  the  bridle  the  writer  was  able  to  help  Tip- 
perary a  little.  His  companion,  with  his  hunting  crop  hooked 
into  the  breast  strap,  also  helped.  Finally,  vdth  a  most  desper- 
ate effort  Tipperary  gained  solid  footing  for  her  fore  feet  and 


A  Day  With  the  Meath  Hounds  261 

the  next  struggle  brought  her  out.  While  Tipj)erary  had  a 
few  moments  in  which  to  recover  herself,  the  companion,  with 
hands  full  of  grass,  rubbed  oft"  the  thickest  of  the  muck  from  the 
wTiter's  clothes  with  the  remark,  "I  could  do  a  better  job  with 
a  shovel  and  a  hoe." 

Never  in  the  writer's  life  was  he  more  supremely  thank- 
ful than  when  he  saw  the  noble  beast  making  headway  and 
likely  to  come  out  in  safety. 

As  a  rule,  horses  in  a  predicament  of  any  nature  make  one 
or  two  struggles  and  quit,  but  there  is  no  such  word  as  "quit" 
in  the  vocabulary  of  an  Irish  hunter,  for  his  breeding  will  pull 
him  through  where  most  others  fail,  and  so  it  did  in  this  case. 
Only  one  other  gentleman  saw  tliis  unfortunate  affair;  he  alone, 
followed  the  writer's  foohsh  lead.  He  was  just  far  enough 
behind  to  pull  hard  to  the  left  and  get  past  the  bog  on  fairly 
good  footing.  The  other  riders  were  lost  to  view  by  an  inter- 
vening growth  of  bushes. 

One  can  hardly  imagine  what  the  writer  looked  like;  hat- 
less,  his  face  scratched,  his  stock  all  blood,  and  his  clothes,  at 
least  the  front  half,  as  black  and  greasy  as  the  treacherous 
muck  could  make  them. 

Fortunately,  there  was  a  dry  seat  for  the  saddle  and  we 
mounted ;  one  of  us  a  sadder,  a  wiser,  but  above  all,  the  most 
thankful  man  in  Ireland. 

A  few  questions  and  ansAvers  showed  that  neither  Iiis  com- 
panion nor  the  writer  knew  his  way,  but  we  finally  came  into  an 
open  field,  next  to  a  "Tater"  patch,  where  a  man,  whom  we 
first  mistook  for  a  scarecrow,  shouted  something  at  us.  At 
this  we  inquired,  "Have  you  seen  anything  of  the  hounds?" 
"Is  it  the  dogs  that  ye  mane,  faith  and  I  did,  there  were  hun- 
dreds of  thim  and  them's  a-roaring." 

"Which  way  have  they  gone  ?"  First  our  informant  pointed 
in  one  direction,  then  in  the  opposite.  This  we  took  to  mean 
that  the  hounds  had  turned  back  in  the  direction  we  came  from. 


262       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"How  long  since  they  passed?"  we  inquired.  "Yesterday  morn- 
ing," came  the  quick  reply.  "Come  over  here,"  shouted  the 
friend,  holding  up  a  flask  as  a  sign  that  we  meant  no  harm. 
"Now  see  here,  we  are  strangers  here,  this  gentleman  got  hung 
up  in  the  bog,  we  wish  (meanwliile  exhibiting  the  contents 
of  the  flask  to  the  best  advantage)  you  would  put  us  right  on 
the  highway,  and  when  you  do,  we  will  be  pleased  to  have  you 
drink  to  our  health."  "Faith  and  I  will,  yer  honour."  At  this 
our  informant  dropped  his  hoe  where  he  stood  and  started. 
Then  he  began  to  ask  questions.  "Where  did  ye  come  from?" 
And  it  turned  out  that  neither  of  us  knew  beyond  the  fact  that 
we  came  from  Dublin  by  train,  got  off  at  some  station  or  other, 
and  drove  somewhere  or  other,  to  some  meet  or  other.  "Holy 
Bridget,  but  sure  ye  are  a  couple  of  lost  souls  if  ye  don't  know 
where  ye  came  from,  where  ye  have  been,  or  where  ye  be  now, 
and  Avhereat  ye  be  striving  to  fitch  to.  JNIay  the  saints  be  with 
ye!  for  it  is  not  me  that  can  tell  ye." 

Our  health  had  been  drunk,  each  separately,  so  as  to  give 
[no  offence.  Soon  after  we  reached  the  liighway,  we  met 
some  riders  who  put  us  right.  Thus  one  trouble  after  another 
came  to  an  end,  including  the  finding  of  the  Captain  who  was 
probably  worrying  about  his  dear  old  Tipperary  and  his  lost 
Yankee  friend. 


iTo  James  Howie, 

Kilmarnock,  Scotland. 


"Talhj  ho!  Sec  the  pack  hotc  Ihcif  flij  to  his  cry, 
A  crash  throin/li  the  i^oodland  resounds. 
The  farmer's  'vicrc  halloa'  goes  up  to  the  sky. 
He  marks  the  good  fox  with  a  icink  of  his  eye. 
And  a  smile  for  the  clustering  hounds." 

Poems  in  Pink, 


XXIV 

FOX  HUNTING  IN  SCOTLAND 

A  DAY  WITH  F.VBMER  MCDOUGAL — A  BIT  OF  SCOTCH  HUMOUR — 

AVEE    MCDOUGAL — A   FEAV   SCOTCH   STORIES TOO   LATE    FOR 

THE    :\IEET — THE    RACE    OF    HIS    LIFE — BONNIE    SCOTLAND 
FOREA-ER. 

BONNIE  SCOTLAND— who  has  ever  been  to  Scotland, 
and  does  not  love  it,  and  not  only  the  country  but  the 
Scotch  people? 

Rural  England  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  countries  in 
the  world,  but  there  is  sometliing  about  Scotland,  that  the 
writer  likes  even  better.  It  might  be  hard  to  define  what  it  is, 
perhaps  it  is  the  brown  purple  moor,  the  brawling  burns,  or 
because  it  is  less  artificial  and  more  as  nature  finished  and  fur- 
nished it. 

It  has  been  the  writer's  good  fortune  to  visit  Scotland  many 
times  during  the  last  fifteen  years.  The  countn,',  the  scenery, 
the  climate  and  the  people  seem  to  suit  him  and  fit  him  as  if 
it  were  his  own  native  land. 


264       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

A  few  days'  grouse  shooting  over  the  brown  purple  moors 
in  August  and  September  and  a  few  days'  deer  stalking  in 
October  is  enough  to  give  Scotland  such  a  character  as  few 
other  countries  possess,  but  that  is  in  pickle  for  some  future 
time,  that  may  bring  to  hght  Glorious  Days  With  Guide  and 
Gun.  For  the  present,  at  least,  we  will  content  ourselves  with 
a  day's  run  to  the  Earl  of  Eglinton's  hounds — fifty  couple 
hunting  the  Ayresliire  country  four  days  a  week. 

James  McDougal  is  the  nom-de-plume  of  a  very  prosperous 
Scotch  tenant  farmer,  and  noted  breeder  of  Ayresliire  cattle, 
living  near  Kilmarnock.  It  is  at  his  hospitable  board  we  are  to 
stay  the  night,  and  with  a  bonnie  start  the  morn,  pay  a  visit 
to  several  other  noted  breeders  on  the  way  to  the  meet  of  the 
Eghnton  hounds. 

The  first  thing  to  strike  one's  attention,  on  entering  the 
parlour,  is  the  great  array  of  challenge  cups  and  other  trophies, 
awarded  Mr.  McDougal  for  liis  skill  in  the  breeding  of  cattle. 
In  this  dei^artment  of  agriculture  our  friend  is  an  artist. 

After  a  cup  of  tea  and  several  varieties  of  Scotch  scones 
have  gone  the  way,  with  a  relish,  our  friend,  who  is  himself 
impatient  to  be  with  liis  red  and  white  beauties,  says: 

"Maybe  when  ye  ha'  finished  with  yer  tea,  yer  would  no 
mind  a  wee  look  roond  among  the  beasties.  Dinna  j'e  mind  the 
fifty  pound  challenge  cup  in  the  corner?  Aye,  well  it  is  no  all 
mine,  till  I  win  it  once  more;  twice  I  have  brought  it  hame 
from  the  Highland  show,  and  it's  been  here  noo  sa  lang  a'm 
thinking  ma  Missis  would  no  like  to  see  it  removed.  Perhaps 
ye  could  say  when  ye  see  the  coo  a'm  sending  to  win  it  fa  good 
and  a',  what  yer  thinking  o'  ma  chances  of  pleasing  the  missis." 

Arriving  at  the  stables,  our  host  leads  out  a  string  of  the 
most  perfectly  formed  dairy  cattle  to  be  found  in  Scotland, 
which  is  to  say  they  are  the  best  and  most  perfect  dairy  cattle 
in  the  world.  McDougal  had  for  months  been  fitting  these 
particular  animals  for  the  great  "Highland"  show.    They  were 


Fox  Hunting  in  Scotland  265 

as  clean  as  soap  and  water  could  make  them.  Their  horns  and 
hoofs  were  polished  and  oiled.  The  hair  had  heen  elipi)ed  from 
the  neck,  the  hetter  to  display  the  heaiitif  ul  way  it  sat  upon  the 
sh(Hilders.  The  hair  along  the  back  had  been  parted  and 
flattened  by  a  brush  and  comb;  they  were,  indeed,  the  most 
beautiful  and  most  perfect  lot  that  can  be  imagined. 

Our  host  is  a  great  "free  kirk"  man  and  we  like  to  touch 
him  on  the  subject  occasionally  just  to  tap  his  humour,  if 
notlii ng  more.  So  we  remark  at  last  when  our  adjectives  have 
given  out  over  the  cattle,  "You  free  kirk  Scotchmen  have 
a  lot  to  answer  for ;  the  good  book  says  we  must  not  covet  and 
here  you  keep  leading  out  one  magnificent  beast  after  another, 
while  for  every  one  a  black  mark  goes  down  in  the  big 
book  against  me  for  coveting  it.  Xow  what  do  you  say  to 
that?" 

"A  dinna  ken  but  a'm  thinking,"  he  repHed,  in  a  slow  and 
solemn  way  befitting  so  grave  a  subject.  "A  dinna  ken  but 
a'm  thinking,  ye  will  find  there's  a  wee  note  on  the  margin  of 
the  book  saying  ye  had  sufficient  cause." 

The  cows  being  duly  examined  and  admired,  we  return  to 
the  house  to  talk  "Coo"  and  hear  the  history  of  the  winning  or 
losing  of  the  cups. 

Paintings  and  photographs,  representing  noted  bulls  and 
champion  cows,  cover  the  walls,  and  make  material  to  talk 
about  after  honest  folks  should  be  in  bed. 

The  ])rogramme  for  to-morrow  is  that  we  are  to  drive  to 
the  meet  in  a  two-wheeled  cart,  while  William,  the  manservant, 
on  a  "fell"  hill-])ony,  leads  our  hunters  on  to  Glencliff  moor, 
some  twelve  miles  away. 

Breakfast  over,  we  go  to  the  stable  yard  to  inspect  our 
mounts.  ISIaster  Thomas  ^IcDougal,  aged  seven,  and  Jamie, 
his  wee  brother,  are  there  ahead  of  us,  the  former  up  on  one  of 
the  hunters,  walking  him  about. 

"Whatever  are  ye  up  to  noo,  ma  wee  mannic?"  called  the 


266       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

delighted  father  to  Master  Thomas,  "Ye  must  no  be  riding 
King  Arthur,  the  morn,  for  he  must  gae  away  o'er  the  Glen- 
chff  JNIoor  and  'tis  a  long  road,  an  ye  must  nae  weary  him." 
"Paw,"  interrupted  the  wee  Jamie,  "Canna  a  no  ride  the  ither 
horse  aboot  the  yards,  a  would  no  make  him  run?"  "Indeed 
would  ye  no,  ma  brave  mannie,  and  what  for  would  ye  be  riding 
him  then?"  inquires  the  indulgent  father,  loath  to  say  no, 
until  he  had  his  son's  reasons  for  wanting  to  ride. 

"A  canna  let  Tammy  say  he's  the  better  o'  me,  paw.  A'll 
no  fall  off."  This  proved  a  knock-down  argument  and  up 
goes  the  wee  Jamie,  the  father  fixing  the  reins  in  his  well-soiled 
hands,  and  his  feet  in  the  stirrup  irons,  the  leathers  being 
crossed  over  to  the  opposite  side  to  accommodate  liis  short 
legs. 

"A'll  gie  ye  ane  turn  aboot  the  yard,"  said  the  father,  "and 
na  mair;  we  must  awa." 

The  big  Irish  hunter,  Kildare,  who  has  been  ratthng  his  bits 
to  quiet  his  impatience,  seems  to  quite  understand  what  is 
needed  and  with  arched  neck  and  demure  stride  walks  around 
the  straw  yard,  the  father  holding  him  well  in  hand,  telhng  liis 
hopeful  to  "Sit  ye  straight,  so  Kildare  will  no  be  ashamed  of 
ye  and  wish  for  yir  brither." 

"Noo  come  away  doon,  ma  brave  mannie,"  said  the  indul- 
gent father  when  the  circle  of  the  yard  had  been  comi^leted,  "yir 
mither'll  be  ga  prood  o'  j^e  the  morn;  run  away  noo  and  tell 
her  what  a  bonnie  laddie  ye  are  for  riding  Kildare."  But  the 
youngster  had  not  far  to  go,  for  just  by  the  stable  yard  corner 
stood  the  smiling  mother,  who  to  hide  her  own  pleasure  said 
to  her  husband,  "Ah,  James,  ha  ye  na  more  mind  than  to  put 
the  wee  Jamie  on  Kildare!"  and  she  shook  her  head  as  much  as 
to  say  her  husband  was  daft. 

By  this  time,  Bess,  the  driving  mare,  was  persuaded  to  go 
between  the  shafts  of  the  two-wheeled  cart,  having  explained 
to  her  the  while,  "Ye  ha  a  lang  journey  afoor  ye  the  day,  ma 


Fox  Hunting  in  Scotland  2G7 

lady,  but  we'll  make  a  few  calls  and  a  doot  na,  ye'll  be  asked 
to  have  a  wee  taste  o'  corn  sa  ye'll  na  hunger." 

Finally,  we  are  off,  JNIaster  Thomas  and  liis  shadow,  the  wee 
Jamie,  riding  to  the  end  of  the  lane;  the  wee  Jamie  between  his 
father's  legs,  takes  the  reins  without  question.  "Ye'll  no  be 
late  returning  the  night,"  calls  the  good  wife  after  us,  "supper 
be  waiting  ye  at  seven."  Once  more  we  wave  adieu  and  the 
husband  calls  back,  "JMind  that  William  dinna  forget  to  feed 
the  white  quej^  (heifer)  in  the  middle  box  when  he  comes  in 
at  noon." 

Bess,  practically  driving  herself,  turns  the  corner  a  bit 
short,  and  the  wheel  scrapes  the  hedge  in  passing.  "Ah,  ma 
wee  mannie,  what  for  dinna  ye  go  wider  o'  the  corner?  Dinna 
ye  ken  that  Bess  would  run  ye  into  the  hedge  cause  she's  too 
lazy  to  go  roound?" 

At  the  end  of  the  lane  JNIaster  Thomas  and  wee  Jamie 
get  down  with  "Noo  then,  ma  brave  laddies,  ga  away  hame 
and,  whatever  ye  do  the  d&y,  ye'll  no  forget  ta  mind  yer  good 
mither,  will  ye  noo?"  "We'll  na  forget  it,  paw,"  answers  the 
sturdy  Thomas,  as  he  takes  wee  Jamie  by  the  hand,  and 
McDougal's  pride  in  his  sons  is  plain  to  see.  "Canna  ay  no 
ride  King  Arthur  the  morn,  paw?"  cries  the  wee  Jamie,  who 
thinks  it  a  good  time  to  close  a  bargain.  "A  dinna  ken,"  replied 
the  father,  "but  a'm  thinking  he'll  be  gae  weary  the  morn. 
Mind  yer  mither  ajid  the  next  time  King  Arthur  is  saddled  ye 
shall  ha'  a  wee  ride." 

We  had  not  gone  far  when  we  came  in  sight  of  a  grand  old 
manor  house  on  a  rise  of  ground  some  distance  back  from  the 
highway,  an  ideal  place.  The  house  itself  and  even  its  chim- 
ney were  fairly  smothered  with  vines. 

In  the  great  pasture  field,  between  the  house  and  the  high- 
way, were  half  a  dozen  hunters,  brood  mares  and  their  foals. 
The  great  oak  trees  were  busy  with  gossiping  rooks;  the  whole 
effect  was  one  of  contentment,  peace  and  happiness.     "If  I 


268       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

owned  a  place  like  that,"  I  remarked,  "I  should  never  want  to 
leave  it."  "Indeed,  mon,"  replied  our  host,  "ye  min'e  have  tae 
leave  it;  the  man  who  lived  there  don't  live  there  noo,  he's 
dead." 

"Then  we  could  not  see  him  to-day  if  we  should  call?" 

"Na,  a  dinna  ken  but  a'm  tliinking  he  is  clumping  the  skies 
hunting  a  feller  by  the  name  o'  Thomas." 

"How  is  that?"  "Well,"  rephes  our  host,  "he  was  the 
squire  o'  the  town,  but,  nevertheless,  he  took  sick  and  had  to 
dae  and  when  it  was  talked  aboot  that  he  was  gaein'  to  dae,  a 
woman  living  fourteen  miles  awa'  when  she  heard  aboot  it  came 
in  to  see  him.  Her  own  good  man  Thomas,  having  gon  awa' 
up  some  three  month  afoor,  the  good  wife  thought  it  would  be 
a  bonny  chance  if  the  squire  was  goin'  to  dae  to  send  a  word 
to  her  Thomas.  When  she  came  in  to  see  laim  she  said,  'A 
heard  yer  gaein'  to  dae.'  'So  the  doctor  tells  me,'  said  the  squire. 
'Would  ye  mind  taking  a  message  to  ma  Thomas  what's  gone 
awa'  up  yon?'  'Well,'  said  the  squire,  'what  is  it?'  'Till  him, 
said  the  woman,  'the  bairns  are  going  to  school  and  the  garten 
is  growing  fine,  and  we  have  a  rxewy  pair  of  shafts  in  the 
wagon ;  and  till  him  we  ha'  some  ne^vy  little  pigs  and  the  quey 
(heifer)  has  a  bonny  little  calf  also  a  quey,'  and  so  she  went 
on  and  on  and  finally,  having  made  such  a  good  account  of 
everything,  she  closed  by  saying,  'and  till  him  we'r  gaein'  on 
sare  weel  we'out  him.'  The  squire  cut  her  short  at  this,  with 
'And  think  ye  a'll  ha'  nithing  to  do,  when  I  ga'  up  yon, 
than  ga  clumping  (tramping)  the  skies,  hunting  yer  Thomas?' 
The  squire,"  added  my  host,  "was  a  gruff  old  man  and  sort  o' 
contrary  like,  always  saying  one  thing  and  doing  anither;  so  a 
doot  na  he  is  noo  clumping  the  skies  hunting  a  feller  by  the 
name  o'  Thomas." 

Bess  meanwhile,  hearing  a  story  going  on,  took  advantage 
of  it  to  slow  down  to  a  walk.  "Noo  ga  awa',  lass,"  said  our 
host,  in  a  voice  intended  to  convey  reproach,  pulling  back  on 


Fox  Hunting  in  Scotland  269 

the  reins  as  a  sign  for  Bess  to  go  a  little  faster  and  added, 
"Yer  no  to  be  listening,  lass,  when  ye  hear  talk  o'  yer  neigh- 
bours." 

Presently,  we  come  to  the  foot  of  a  little  hill  and  Bess 
comes  to  a  full  stop.  "Ga  awa'  noo,  yer  no  to  be  weary,  canna 
ye  no  see  the  bonnie  ricks  (stacks)  of  James  Donnon?  A  dinna 
ken  but  a'm  thinking  ye'll  be  invited  to  ha'  a  wee  taste  of  corn." 
Thus  addressed  and  carefully  persuaded  by  a  light  applica- 
tion of  the  whip,  which  for  severity  would  hardly  dislodge  a 
flj',  we  "raise  the  hell"  and  come  to  a  halt  in  ^Ir.  Donnon's 
yard.  I  looked  at  my  watch  and  called  my  conductor's  atten- 
tion to  the  fact  that  time  was  flying  and  we  were  not  over  half 
waj^  to  the  meet.  Mr.  Donnon  came  out  and  proceeded  to 
take  the  mare  from  the  cart  (there  is  not  a  hitching  post  in 
all  Scotland).  "A'm  thinking,"  said  my  conductor,  "we  ha' 
scant  time  for  stopping.  We  would  like  for  a  wee  look  among 
the  coos.  We'r  awa'  to  Glencliff  moor  the  day,"  added  my 
host  and  then  looking  very  serious,  "for  a  fox  they  say  ha'  been 
stealing  the  widow  INIcClure's  cliickens  o'  late  and  na  doot  the 
poor  woman  is  grieving."  "Ah!"  cried  Mr.  Donnon,  "what  a 
tender  heart  ye  ha'  for  the  wdow."  "Aye,"  replied  ^NIcDougal 
gaily,  "but  dinna  ye  mind  that  Dickens  says  'Beware  o'  the 
\viddy?'  A'm  no  forgetting  that,  James."  "Come  awa'  to  the 
house  for  a  wee  taste."  ])leaded  our  host.  "We're  short  for 
time,"  replied  my  conductor.  "A  can  understand  that,"  replied 
Mr.  Donnon,  "when  ye  ha'  a  widdy  in  yer  heart,  and  a  fox  in 
yer  mind,  but  ma  missis  will  no  think  kind  o'  ye,  INIcDougal, 
if  ye  dinna  come  in  and  say  a  word." 

That  settled  it,  and  with  a  look  of  resignation,  and  a  mis- 
chievous smile  on  our  host's  face,  we  follow  Mr.  Donnon  to 
the  door,  which  the  good  wfe  opens  before  we  can  reach  it, 
with  a  genuine  Scotch  welcome  impossible  to  counterfeit. 

Like  many  of  the  farm  houses  in  this  part  of  Scotland, 
there  is  one  large  room  and  in  the  middle  stands  a  long  dining 


270       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

table  to  accommodate  a  large  family.  In  one  end  of  the  room 
a  spacious  fireplace  and  oven  where  the  cooking  is  done,  the 
opposite  end  of  the  room  being  given  up  to  two  alcoves  just 
long  enough  to  accommodate  two  beds.  These  beds  are  about 
the  height  of  a  sixteen  hand  horse  and  are  far  more  difficult 
to  mount,  but  once  located  in  the  middle,  one  sinks  below 
the  horizon  of  feathers  like  a  sliip  in  the  trough  of  mighty 
seas. 

On  either  side  of  the  fireplace,  are  cupboards,  invariably 
painted  green.  Wliile  you  are  removing  your  coat,  Madam, 
who  has  inquired  after  Mrs.  McDougal  and  the  "bairns"  in  gen- 
eral, then  each  one  in  particular,  goes  to  a  cupboard  and  takes 
out  a  snowy  wliite  table  spread,  unfolds  it  once  or  twice,  sets 
out  some  bread  and  cheese,  the  right  number  of  glasses  and 
lastly  a  bottle  of  Walker's  "INIountain  Dew."  Donnon  says 
grace,  then  we  help  ourselves  to  the  bread  and  cheese,  and  a 
"wee  taste,"  in  which  to  drink  to  the  health  of  the  Donnons. 
This  delightful  hospitality  given  and  received,  it  was  then  in 
order  to  retire  to  the  stables  for  a  look  among  the  beasties. 
Time,  however,  was  going  on  and  we  had  several  other  calls 
to  make  on  the  way  to  the  meet. 

Bess  came  from  the  stable  smacking  her  lips  over  the  last 
taste  of  corn  and  was  once  more  persuaded  that  it  was  her 
duty  as  a  good  and  faithful  servant  to  go  between  the  shafts. 

Our  next  stop  was  at  one  Mr.  McFadden's  and  as  that 
gentleman  was  expecting  us  he  was  on  the  lookout.  It  was  but 
two  miles  from  our  last  stopping  place,  but  no  matter,  Bess 
must  come  from  the  shafts  again,  and  the  same  Scotch  hos- 
pitality gone  through  with.  Our  host  was  a  sandy-haired,  side- 
whiskered,  upstanding  Scotchman  with  a  Scotch  plaid  cap  of 
the  Thomas  O'Shanter  build,  hght  blue  eyes,  a  red  face,  and  a 
redder  nose.  "Come  in,  McDougal,  sure  and  ye'll  no  be  pass- 
ing wi'  oot  taking  a  wee  drap."  "Well  noo,"  replied  McDou- 
gal, "we  just  had  a  taste  at  your  good  neighbour's,  Mr.  Don- 


Fox  Hunting  in  Scotland  271 

non's,  we'r  no  feeling  the  need  o'  anither  the  noo,"  "Ah!  man, 
and  would  ye  taste  with  me  neighbour  and  no  ha'  a  drap  wi 
me?"  "Well  noo,  INIcFadden,  we'r  no  hungert  fa  a  taste  our- 
selves, but  if  it  will  be  giving  yourself  an  excuse,  na  doot  we 
ma  acconunodate  ye." 

There  was  no  dodging  it,  so  in  we  go.  Our  host  hastens 
matters  a  bit  by  saying,  "But  I  will  tell  you  fair,  McFadden, 
the  time  we  give  to  the  tasting  we  must  take  from  the  coos." 
When  we  had  left  ISIcFadden's  our  host  turned  to  inquire. 
"Did  ye  no  remark  the  Walker  brand  on  our  friend's  nose?" 
"Is  that  from  Walker's  best?"  I  replied.  "Xo,"  replied  mine 
host,  "that  is  just  the  trouble.  A  little  good  Scotch  is  good,  a 
good  deal  of  bad  Scotch  is  hell,  and  a  dinna  ken  l)ut  a'm  think- 
ing our  friend  iNIcFadden  is  going  somewhat  in  that  direction." 

Once  more  we  journey  on,  but  the  next  stop  on  the  pro- 
gramme had  to  be  omitted. 

Now  for  the  meet.  When  we  arrived  there,  hounds  had 
already  gone,  and  we  had  a  good  excuse  for  skipping  another 
taste  at  the  hunt  breakfast,  which  Lord  So-and-so  had  pro- 
vided. Bess,  however,  went  into  the  stable  for  her  taste  of  corn. 
We  mounted  our  hunters,  the  groom  waiting  for  Bess  to  do  her 
fourth  taste  for  the  morning  before  he  started  her  for  home. 

Our  host  and  the  writer  were  of  course  in  the  usual  agony 
that  thrives  on  all  late  comers  to  the  chase.  We  ride  blindly 
on,  perhaps  opposite  to  the  way  hounds  are  going  or  the  near- 
est point  to  reach  them,  galloping  madly  on  for  half  a  mile, 
then  halting  to  listen,  and  galloping  as  hard  back  again. 
Presently,  it  comes  on  to  rain  and  we  seek  shelter  under  the  lee 
of  a  hay  stack  and  wait.  How  the  minutes  drag  and  our  minds 
hurry.  We  are  glad  it  rains.  It  gives  us  an  excuse  to  stop 
tearing  about  on  a  wild  goose  chase.  ]McDougal  lights  his 
pipe  and  tells  a  story:  how  when  he  was  a  lad,  he  came  to  the 
farmhouse  where  the  hunt  breakfast  was  held,  to  spend  Sunday 
with  a  scliool  mate.     Thev  were  out  on  tlic  lawn  after  dimier 


272       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

and  he  was  whistling  a  new  Scotch  air,  just  to  show  his  friend 
how  it  went,  when  out  comes  the  mother  and  said,  "Here  you, 
laddies,  come  here ;  noo  ye  may  have  a'  the  Scotch  wliiskey  that 
ye  will  and  ye  may  go  wit  the  lasses  o'  a  Sunday  to  your  fiU, 
but  wliistling  on  the  Lord's  day  a'U  na  ha'."  And  this 
reminds  McDougal  of  another  one.  A  minister  of  the  gospel, 
from  America,  occupied  a  pulpit  of  a  church  in  Edinburgh  one 
Sunday,  and  going  for  a  walk  on  King  Arthur's  seat  in  the 
afternoon  and  not  knowing  the  strict  rule  of  the  Free  Kirk, 
was  puckering  his  mouth  to  a  church  hymn,  when  a  labourer 
accosted  him  with,  "O  ye  are  a  sare  bad  man;  if  a  had  nane 
ye'd  a  wliistle  on  the  Lord's  day  I'd  no  coom  to  hear  ye 
preach  the  morn."  Still  the  rain  swished  past  and  we  dis- 
mounted to  lean  against  the  stack  for  more  complete  shelter. 
JNIcDougal,  feeling  chagrined  at  missing  the  meet,  was  blam- 
ing himself  and  the  lazy  Bess  by  turns.  He  thinks  he  is 
especially  called  upon  to  entertain  his  guest  and  keep  him  from 
going  mad  because  of  missing  the  meet  and  probably  missing 
the  chase  altogether.  "Can  ye  no  see  the  hoose  o'  James 
McPherson  who  lives  just  yon  by  the  foot  o'  the  moor?  Aye, 
when  a  wee  laddie,  the  father  of  the  present  McPherson  came 
late  to  school  one  day  and  the  school  mistress  said  to  liim,  'Ah! 
Master  McPherson,  ye'r  late  again  the  morn,  what  excuse 
ha'  ye  tliis  time,  for  a'm  no  liking  to  punish  ye  till  a've  heard 
what  ye  ha'  tae  say  for  yourself.' 

"  'Please,  mum,  we  had  a  wee  lassie  come  to  the  house  the 
morn.'  'Ah!  indeed,'  replied  the  school  mistress,  'I  suppose 
your  father  was  very  pleased?'  'Na,'  replied  youn'  McPherson, 
'ma  father  knew  naught  aboot  it,  he  was  awa'  in  Edinburgh.' 
'Indeed!'  'Aye,  and  it  was  a  good  stroke  that  me  mither  was 
hame  or  there'd  been  no  one  aboot  the  hoose  to  welcome  her, 
and — What?"  broke  off  McDougal,  springing  to  his  feet,  "did 
ye  no  catch  the  note  o'  a  hound?"  Placing  his  hand  to  his 
ear,  "There's  no  mistake  aboot  it,"  he  cried,  "and  see,  both 


Fud'  IIiiutiiKj  in  Scotland  273 

King  Arthur  and  Kildare  (who  were  also  eagerly  listening) 
are  of  the  same  opinion." 

Hurriedly  mounting,  we  ride  out  for  a  better  view,  and 
just  in  time  to  eatch  sight  of  a  travelling  fox  leaving  a  flock 
of  sheej).  What  a  sight!  Every  sheep  with  head  up  was 
watching  with  curious  interest  the  bundle  of  fur  rolling  along 
over  the  crest  of  the  lull. 

"That's  him,"  cried  jVIcDougal,  meaning  he  was  the  hunted 
fox.  "Do  ye  no  mind  him  dragging  his  brush  as  if  he  was 
aboot  quitting  tha  job,  and  can  Ve  no  hear  the  hounds'  music  in 
the  wood  below?  Thej''ll  be  out  in  a  wee."  And  we  hurry  on 
to  the  line  over  the  crest  of  the  hill,  toward  which  point  the 
fox  was  making.  INIeantimc,  hound  music  had  ceased 
altogether,  but  hardly  had  we  reached  the  point  we  were  mak- 
ing for,  when  a  hound  came  thrcMigh  the  hedge  from  the  wood 
below,  struck  the  trail,  and  with  a  challenge  that  called  every 
other  hound  to  the  line  raced  away  towards  the  top  of  the 
hill  where  we  were  waiting.  AVhat  a  sight !  One  hound  after 
another  joined  in  the  chase  and  the  "heavenly  music"  rose  to 
one  grand  chorus  that  filled  all  the  vale  and  came  on  the  wind 
to  us  mingled  with  its  own  echo.  On  came  the  leading  hounds, 
the  sheep  fleeing  in  all  possible  haste.  Of  course  there  was  a 
check,  as  Reynard  knew  there  would  be  when  he  sneaked 
through  the  flock.  When  the  last  hounds  had  come  up  with  the 
leaders,  who  failed  to  pick  up  the  line  by  their  own  cast  for- 
ward, up  stands  the  big  jNIcDougal  high  in  his  stirrups,  swing- 
ing his  hat  and  shouting,  "TaUa-ho-gan-arca  !  TaUji-ho! 
Tally-ho-atva  !"  'Twas  enough,  on  came  the  eager  pack  to 
his  cheer,  ])icking  up  the  line  as  they  raced  each  other  to  the 
crest  of  the  hill.  Then,  in  a  pace  that  silenced  their  tongues, 
they  drove  on  like  a  cavalry  charge  down  the  beautiful  slope. 
There  w^is  not  a  single  rider  in  sight.  The  swampy  bottom 
land  whence  the  pack  came  had  ])ro])ably  stop])ed  the  field. 

For  three  miles  the  big-hearted  ^McDougal,  on  the  big- 


274        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

hearted  King  Arthur,  led  the  way,  hard  after  the  pack,  down 
the  hill,  through  a  narrow  strip  of  covert  out  on  to  the  open 
moor.  Here  we  were  joined  by  the  huntsman  and  a  whipper- 
in  on  fresh  horses.  There  was  a  moment's  check,  and  on  again 
over  the  great  open  moor.  What  a  gallop!  Hi!  hi!  hi!  On 
we  went  for  another  mile  or  so  when  finally  JNIr.  Reynard  rolled 
over  in  the  open  and  "his  spirit,"  as  the  old  biographers 
were  fond  of  saying,  "took  its  flight  to  that  bourne  from  which 
no  traveller  has  ever  returned." 

What  a  lucky  ending  for  such  a  disappointing  begiiming! 
The  rain  had  ceased.  The  sun  in  patches  here  and  there  was 
sweeping  over  the  great  heather-covered  hills,  lingering  now 
and  again  in  a  valley  or  loitering  in  a  ravine,  only  to  burst 
forth  at  greater  speed  over  the  rounded  crest  of  a  footliill; 
then  to  continue  the  chase  after  the  shaft  that  preceded  it, 
until  lost  in  the  misty  atmosphere  of  the  distant  hills. 

The  ^Titer's  pen  is  surely  at  a  loss  to  describe  the  beauties 
of  the  moors  as  they  broke  upon  us  that  day.  Here  and  there 
a  patch  of  fleecy  white  cloud,  recently  wrung  dry  of  rain,  was 
resting  quietly  in  a  dark  ravine  or  again  in  the  lee  of  an  abrupt 
shoulder  of  a  hill.  These  fleecy  wliite  patches  suggested  that 
the  great  mountains  behind  were  waving  on  the  chase  of  the 
clouds  or  was  it  the  chase  of  the  fox? 

Reader,  have  you  ever  seen  the  fells  and  mountains  of 
Bonnie  Scotland  when  the  heather  was  in  bloom?  If  so,  you 
will  surely  saj%  with  the  writer,  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful sights  in  the  world.  If  not,  can  you  imagine  thousands 
and  tens  of  thousands  of  acres  of  moor,  hill,  ravine,  and  moun- 
tain, covered  Avith  a  carpet  of  the  richest  brown  and  softest 
purple?  Not  a  tree  nor  a  shrub  to  break  the  evenness  of  the 
landscape — now  and  again  little  patches  of  the  greenest  grass, 
or  a  sjjot  of  black  barren  earth  that  rather  adds  to  than  de- 
tracts from  the  general  effect.  In  the  low  lands  the  heather 
grows  to  a  height  of  eighteen  or  twenty  inches,  which  grad- 


Fox  Hunting  in  Scotland  275 

ually  lessens  as  you  ascend  to  the  clouds  where  the  hleak  winds 
keep  it  shingled  short.  Long  or  short,  its  ])ur])lc  blossoms  lend 
colour  to  its  own  dark  brown  shrubbery,  so  that  this  wonderful 
carpet  is  seen  in  all  the  varying  shades  between  brown  and  pur- 
ple, depending  on  the  light  and  shadows  or  the  angle  of  the 
hills  and  undulations  as  they  meet  the  eye.  Who  can  resist 
falling  in  love  with  Bonnie  Scotland! 

Of  course  we  were  wet  to  the  skin  and  twenty-one  miles 
from  home;  but  in  all  Scotland  there  were  not  two  happier 
men  than  rode  the  distance  through  repeated  rain  storms,  los- 
ing our  way,  but  finally  by  climbing  a  sign  post  and  striking 
matches  to  illuminate  the  arms,  we  were  put  right.  Reaching 
the  main  road.  King  Arthur  gave  a  neigh  of  delight,  for  he 
knew  where  he  was.  ISIr.  JSIcDougal  mistaking  the  meaning, 
remarked,  "dinna  ye  be  greeting  (crying)  laddie,  yon  are 
the  hghts  o'  Kilmarnock." 

We  reached  our  destination  quite  fit  for  supper  and  the 
rather  long  night  cap  which  oVIadam  had  in  pickle  for  us.  This 
we  saw  at  a  glance  by  the  tea  kettle  simmering  by  the  open 
grate  fire.  "Is  it  to  your  liking?"  intjuired  the  good  housewife. 
"Splendid,"  we  replied,  but  JMcDougal  in  characteristic  Scotch 
replied,  "It's  na  too  bad,  it's  a  wee  mite  sweet,  perhaps,  but 
a'm  thinking  t'will  do."  Then  looking  slyly  over  the  top  of  his 
steaming  glass  he  adds,  "A  dinna  ken  but  a'm  thinking  it 
might  lia'  been  worse." 

We  offered  a  toast  to  the  health  of  all  the  McDougals — 
may  their  shadows  never  grow  less;  to  all  the  late  comers  at  the 
meet — may  they  never  lose  heart;  to  the  foxes  of  the  fells  and 
the  moor — may  they  ever  contiiuie  to  show  hounds  the  way; 
and  tlie  Kihnarnock  hutit — may  it  always  have  sport;  and  last 
to  mention,  but  first  in  our  hearts,  Bonnie  Scotland  forever. 


PART  III 
HUNTING  IN  FRANCE 


To  Baron  de  Dorlodot. 

"My  ideal  sportsman  and  gentleman  true, 
A  man  of  endurance  and  pluck. 
The  best  pigeon  shot  that  all  Europe  can  boast. 
In  wild  boar  hunting  he  captures  the  most. 
While  with  foils  he  is  ever  in  luck." 


HAItON    dp:    DORI.OllDT 


XXV 

HUNTING  IN  FRANCE 

THE   NATURE  OF  THE  GAME — BARON   DE  DORI-ODOT — THE   KEN- 
NELS— THE  FOREST  OF  SENOUCHES. 

"C^  ROM  rude  snares  and  drives  into  niire,  on  down  through 
*■  the  age  of  the  crudest  weapons  and  the  hand  spear  to 
the  present  day,  the  taking  of  the  wild  boar  has  been 
attended  with  great  danger.  The  hon  is  styled  the  King  of 
beasts,  but  he  is  a  cf)ward  in  comparison  with  the  wild  boar. 
The  wild  boar,  being  a  purely  herbivorous  animal,  has  no 
occasion  to  prey  upon  any  other  animal.  Stealth  is,  therefore, 
to  liim  an  unknown  quality.  His  fighting  is  always  defensive 
and,  as  against  his  common  enemies,  the  wolf  and  l)ear,  he 
invariably  came  out  ahead,  therefore  he  has  come  to  think  of 
himself  as  the  master  of  the  universe. 

There  is  no  animal,  in  the  whole  list  of  big  game  or  small, 
that  has  such  an  exalted  opinion  of  his  own  power  and  ability 
to  defend  himself  against  all  comers,  as  the  wild  boar. 

He  is  armed  with  great  tusks  in  the  lower  jaw  that  are  from 
four  to  six  inches  in  length.  The  points  of  these  mash  or 
rasp  against  shorter  tusks  in  the  upper  jaw  that  keep  the 
points  of  the  lower  tusks  as  sharp  as  a  knife. 

With  these  weapons,  short  handled  although  they  are,  he 
defends  himself  and  at  quite  a  range.  His  agility  is  so  marvel- 
lous that  nothing  can  escape  a  gash  that  comes  within  his 
reach  and  his  reach,  when  standing,  covers  a  radius  of  five  or  six 
feet  to  right  or  left.  He  can  charge  ahead,  or  turn  end  for  end, 
in  a  single  spring.    When  fighting  from  a  standstill,  liis  hind 


280       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

legs  form  the  pivot  of  his  action.  His  shoulders  are  deep, 
heavy,  and  muscular,  and  carry  at  least  two  thirds  of  his 
weight.  He  is  covered  with  a  close  fitting  coat  of  wiry  hair 
that  protects  the  toughest  of  liides,  hke  an  armour  plate  on  a 
man  of  war. 

During  the  reign  of  Louis  XI,  we  are  told,  if  not  before, 
the  chase  of  the  wild  boar  was  elevated  to  the  sport  of  kings. 
The  customs  inaugurated  by  tliis  sporting  monarch  have  very 
generally  been  followed  to  the  present  day.  Since  then  the 
sport  has  always  attracted  the  nobility  of  the  country,  and 
although  there  are  but  few  wild  boar  hunting  establishments 
in  France  at  the  present  time— owing  to  the  scarcity  of  forests 
of  sufficient  size  to  attract  the  game— the  few  gentlemen  who 
still  carry  it  on,  do  so  in  a  princely  fasliion,  preserving,  as 
far  as  practicable,  the  customs  and  usages  of  ye  olden  times. 

There  are  but  a  few  places  in  France  where  the  wild  boar 
is  hunted  and  these  estabhshments  are  not  hunt  clubs  as  in 
England  and  America,  where  anyone  is  at  liberty  to  join;  but 
are  private  packs,  under  the  exclusive  management  of  certain 
wealthy,  or  titled  gentlemen,  who  own  the  hounds  and  every- 
tliing  pertaining  to  the  establishment;  and  who  only  welcome 
such  people  to  the  chase  as  the  INIaster  delights  to  honour. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  good  old  fashioned  schoolboy  delight 
that  the  writer  received  an  invitation  from  the  Baron  de  Dor- 
lodot  to  spend  a  week  with  himself  and  his  family  at  his  beauti- 
ful hunting  retreat,  in  the  heart  of  the  great  forest  of  Se- 
nouches. 

The  Baron  de  Dorlodot  is  easily  first  among  the  great 
sportsmen  of  France.  His  name  is  everywhere  known  on  the 
continent,  and  in  England  and  America,  as  the  champion 
pigeon  shot  of  Europe.  Among  the  prominent  events  that 
have  fallen  to  his  gun  in  pigeon  shooting  is  the  great  Paris 
prize  of  1868,  offered  by  the  Emperor  Napoleon.  At  Monaco, 
in  1885,  he  won  the  twenty  thousand  franc  prize  and  a  cup 


11 II II ling  ill  France  281 

valued  at  five  thousand  francs.  He  has  also  won  many  inter- 
national events  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  other  ])laees  in  France. 
His  crowning  achievement  was  the  winning  of  the  grand  prize 
and  cup,  the  best  prize  in  England,  in  1899.  He  has  also  met 
many  of  our  best  American  shots,  in  our  own  country  and 
abroad.  An  idea  of  his  skill  may  be  had  from  a  single  incident. 
On  the  opening  day's  shoot,  in  the  Chjlteau  de  Vieusart,  Bel- 
gium, he  killed  one  hundred  and  two  out  of  one  hundred  and 
three  live  partridges.  At  pistol  shooting  the  Baron  de  Dor- 
lodot  is  considered  invincible.  "He  is  sure,"  says  Le  Sport 
Universal,  "to  hit  a  five  cent  piece,  three  times  out  of  four,  at 
thirty  paces,  while  at  fencing  he  is  so  clever,  supple  and  rapid 
of  execution  that  even  tlie  professional  swordsmen  of  France 
stand  very  much  in  awe  of  him."  He  is  much  devoted  to  yacht- 
ing. At  one  time  he  kept  a  racing  stud,  but  a  few  unsports- 
manlike acts  on  the  part  of  competitors  disgusted  him  with  the 
game  and  although  he  loves  the  horse,  and  especially  the  thor- 
oughbred, he  prefers  a  pastime  that  calls  for  personal  skill  and 
exertion. 

In  hunting  the  wild  boar,  the  Baron  de  Dorlodot  finds  the 
one  sport  that  above  all  others  is  best  suited  to  his  taste  and 
wonderful  ability.  Wild  boar  hunting  requires  a  man  of  the 
highest  courage,  the  temper  of  steel,  wonderful  endurance, 
"stick-to-it-iveness,"  and  an  inborn  love  of  the  forest  and  the 
chase.  During  the  thirty  years  the  Baron  de  Dorlodot  has  been 
engaged  in  wild  ])oar  hunting,  over  one  thousand  wild  boars 
have  fallen  to  his  skill.  A  great  many  hounds  have  l)een  cheered 
on  to  their  death  by  the  Baron  who,  single  handed,  has  come  to 
their  rescue,  and  witli  a  short  sword  (blade  about  twenty 
inches),  the  infuriated  boar  has  been  sent  to  the  land  of  his 
fathers.  It  is  not  at  all  an  uncommon  occurrence  to  have  three 
or  four  dead  hounds  lying  about  the  spot  where  the  wild  boar 
makes  a  stand,  and  as  many  more  wounded,  and  sent  yelping 
and  flying  in  all  directions.    ]Many  of  the  Baron's  hounds,  and 


282        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

several  of  lais  hunters,  as  well  as  the  huntsmen  and  indomitable 
Baron  himself,  carry  scars  and  cuts  from  the  tusks  of  boars 
with  which  they  have  come  in  contact. 

Baron  de  Dorlodot's  commodious  hunting  lodge  is  occu- 
pied by  himself  and  his  family,  from  November  to  April.  It 
is  partially  new  and  partially  the  restored  hunting  castle  of 
King  Louis  XIV,  who  formerly  came  there  to  hunt  the  wild 
stag.  It  is  beautifully  located  and  well  adapted  to  the  wants 
of  the  present  owner  and  his  broad  hospitahty.  There  are  many 
boxes  for  hunters,  buildings  for  carriages  and  automobiles,  be- 
sides the  very  elaborate  kennels,  cooking  rooms,  and  hospital 
for  sick  and  injured  hounds,  breeding  kennels,  etc. 

The  granite  posts  of  the  entrance  gate  to  the  grounds  are 
surmounted  by  wild  boars'  heads  in  bronze,  while  the  interior 
walls  are  decorated  with  trophies  of  the  chase  by  the  hundred. 
No  less  than  thirty  or  more  mounted  wild  boars'  heads  orna- 
ment the  walls,  and  clusters  of  antlers  decorate  the  ceilings  of 
the  hall  and  the  sjiacious  dining  room. 

There  are  forty  to  fifty  couples  of  working  hounds  at  the 
kennels ;  some  are  pure  French  bred  hounds,  some  are  half-bred, 
the  rest  English  foxhounds.  The  latter  are  well  adapted  to  wild 
boar  hunting;  having  speed,  endurance  and  courage.  The 
French  hound  and  half-bred,  or  French-Enghsh  cross-bred 
hounds,  have  better  noses  and  are  decidedly  better  in  giving 
tongue,  which  in  these  great  forests  should  be  as  far  reacliing 
and  as  clamorous  as  possible.  The  hounds  are  marked  with  a 
number  on  the  left  and  the  initial  "D"  on  their  right  side. 
These  numbers  and  letters  are  made  by  clipping  away  the  hair 
instead  of  branding,  and  are  about  four  inches  high. 

The  Baron  de  Dorlodot's  huntsman,  Antoine,  is  the  most 
noted  huntsman  in  all  France.  He  has  grown  old  and  grey 
in  following  the  chase  of  the  wild  boar  and  has  been  for  twenty- 
two  years  the  premier  piqueur  to  Baron  de  Dorlodot.  His 
natural  instinct  serves  him  well  and  makes  him  past  master  in 


Hunting  in  France  283 

the  art  of  locating  the  game.  The  joy  on  his  face  as  he 
approaches  his  master,  hat  in  hand,  to  inform  him  that  he  has 
located  the  kennel  of  a  wild  boar  is  a  pleasure  to  see.  The 
numerous  hairbreadth  escapes  from  death,  and  the  ugly  scars 
he  exhibits  on  his  legs,  the  result  of  personal  encounters  with 
infuriated  boars,  are  something  he  may  well  smile  at,  as  he 
fondly  does,  when  he  feels  liimself  still  alive  and  able  to  do  duty 
in  spite  of  them. 

The  forest  where  this  grand  display  of  wild  boar  hunting 
takes  place  is  well  stocked  with  game,  and  contains  many  veter- 
ans that  are  big,  strong  and  wicked.  This  is  owing  principally 
to  the  great  abundance  of  beechnuts,  acorns,  and  many  other 
kinds  of  food  that  make  the  >vild  boars  of  the  forest  of  Sen- 
ouches  attain  a  larger  size  than  any  others  in  France.  They 
are  likewise  the  most  courageous  and  desperate  to  encounter. 
They  are  great  travellers,  covering  from  twenty  to  thirty,  and 
even  fifty  miles  in  a  single  night,  so  great  is  their  natural  dis- 
position to  roam. 

It  is  needless  to  say,  it  requires  a  lot  of  training  in  wood- 
craft to  outgeneral  them,  for  when  once  on  foot  they  have  speed 
surpassed  only  by  the  deer  and  the  fastest  horses  and  are 
greatly  superior  to  the  former  in  endurance  or  staying  quali- 
ties. Twenty  to  thirty  and  even  forty  miles,  is  no  uncommon 
distance  for  a  wild  boar  in  the  heyday  of  his  vigour,  to  lead 
the  chase  before  he  succumbs. 

It  may  be  seen  from  this  that  the  hounds  to  follow  him  must 
be  of  the  very  best  in  speed  and  endurance. 

Not  only  does  it  require  talent  of  the  highest  order  in  the 
huntsman  and  hounds,  the  best  in  courage,  speed,  endurance, 
and  voice  in  the  hound,  but  the  blaster,  who  directs  the  attack 
and  plans  the  chase,  must  also  possess  as  keen  an  instinct  as  his 
huntsman,  and  boldness,  as  great  as  a  general  in  command,  for 
his  superior  judgment  must  decide  for  both. 

^ladame  la  Baronne  de  Dorlodot  always  follows  the  chase 


284       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

in  lier  carriage,  and  knows  the  forest  so  well  that  she  is  always 
able  to  arrive  in  time  to  witness  the  final  ceremonies  of  the 
game. 

The  uniform  for  gentlemen  is  green,  trimmed  with  gold 
lace,  hunting  breeches  of  green  velvet  with  long  wliite  stockings 
coming  nearly  to  the  hips,  high  hunting  boots,  and  a  belt  with 
hunting  knife  (a  short  sword  with  about  twenty  inches  of 
blade).  A  carbine  carried  by  the  JNIaster  and  one  of  liis  sons, 
is  attached  to  the  saddle.  The  cap  is  of  green  velvet.  The  hunt 
buttons  are  of  gold  with  a  wild  boar's  head  in  silver. 

The  ladies  wear  a  dress  of  green  of  the  same  shade  as  the 
men  and  similarly  decorated  and  a  three  cornered  hat  of  green, 
trimmed  with  gold  lace.  The  uniforms  are  worn  by  such  gentle- 
men only,  as  the  Master  has  honoured  by  presenting  them  with 
a  set  of  hunt  buttons.  This  mark  of  distinction  also  entitles 
the  wearer  to  carry  a  hunting  horn  and  to  take  an  active  part 
in  the  chase.  The  wives  of  such  gentlemen  wear  the  colours 
and  uniform  as  described  for  ladies,  whether  they  follow  the 
chase  on  horseback  or  by  driving. 

The  horn  is  of  the  style  that  is  worn  over  the  right  shoulder 
and  encircles  the  body,  passing  under  the  left  arm,  the  tube 
passing  nearly  three  times  around  the  body. 

Before  we  proceed  to  show  how  the  game  is  located  and  the 
chase  itself  is  conducted,  it  will  be  necessary  to  know  some- 
thing of  the  nature  of  the  forest. 

Baron  de  Dorlodot  owns  some  30,000  acres  of  forest  and 
rents  the  shooting  and  hunting  privileges  of  about  10,000  acres 
more. 

The  Forest  of  Senouches  has,  here  and  there,  clearings,  and 
the  boar  travels  from  one  wood  to  another.  The  great  diversity 
of  the  country  lends  animation  to  the  sports.  A  large  number 
of  peasants  are  constantly  employed  in  cutting  off  the  timber. 
The  system  of  forestry  contemplates  cutting  over  the  whole 
tract  in  twenty-five  years,  that  is  to  say,  they  begin  on  one  side 


Hunting  in  France 


285 


of  the  forest  and  are  twenty-five  years  cutting  the  timher  from 
it,  when  there  is  twenty-five  years  growth  to  hegin  with  again. 
The  clearings  thus  made  take  all  the  underhrush  and  small 
trees,  leaving  a  large  straight  tree  here  and  there  to  grow  on 
for  another  twenty-five  years,  or  until  it  begins  to  show  decay. 
This  underbrush  and  twenty-five  years  growth  of  timber  is  cut 
off  close  to  the  ground  so  that  the  portion  recently  cleared  is 


We<r/    d 


.1? 

beautiful  open  forest,  with  just  enough  large  trees  left  to  shade 
the  ground.  The  imcut  forest  is,  for  the  most  part,  a  thicket 
of  underbrush  and  so  dense  in  some  places  that  a  bird  could 
hardly  fly  through  it.  The  whole  great  acreage  is  laid  out  in 
roads  and  lanes.  The  roads  form  squares  so  that  in  about  every 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  the  turnpike  roads  come  together  in 
four  corners.    Running  diagonally  across  these  squares,  in  each 


286       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

direction,  are  lanes  cut  through  the  forest  for  the  convenience 
of  getting  out  the  timber  and  firewood  as  the  accompanying 
illustration  will  show. 

The  diagram  referred  to  represents  four  sections  of  a  forest, 
the  dark  or  heavy  lines  are  the  turnpike  roads,  about  100  feet 
wide;  the  lighter  lines  represent  lanes  which  are  about  fifty 
feet  wide.  These  roads  and  lanes  have  been  laid  out  with 
engineering  skill,  and  are  as  straight  as  a  line  for  miles  in  every 
direction.    Each  section  or  square  is  staked  and  numbered. 


"From  wood  to  wood  redoubling  thunders  roll. 
And  bellow  thro'  the  vales;  the  moving  storm 
Thiehens  amain,  and  loud  triumphant  shouts. 
And  horns  shrill-w-arhling  in  each  glade,  prelude 
To  his  approaching  fate." 

Somervile. 

XXVI 

THE  CHASE  OF  THE  WILD  BOAR 

LOCATING    THE    GAME — THE    C0^T:RT    SIDE — THE    START — THE 
CHASE HALLALI ! THE  CEREMONY. 

WILD  boars,  like  foxes,  seek  food  during  the  night  and 
sleep  during  the  day.  They  kennel  almost  anwhere 
that  they  happen  to  be  when  morning  begins  to  break. 

Sometimes  they  go  in  small  droves,  that  is,  the  younger 
ones  accom])anied  by  some  of  the  older  females ;  but  the  males, 
exeept  in  the  rutting  season,  seem  to  prefer  to  travel  and  kennel 
alone. 

By  daybreak  the  huntsman,  with  a  well  trained  hound,  goes 
out  into  the  forest  to  loeate  a  boar;  jjossibly,  one  of  the  Baron's 
sons  with  another  hound  goes  in  another  direetion.  We  will, 
for  the  sake  of  illustration,  start  with  the  huntsman  and  his 
one  mute  hound,  led  by  a  line  (ratlier  the  hound  leads  the 
huntsman  by  the  line),  along  the  road,  beginning  at  the  soutii- 
east  corner  of  section  No.  4-4.5  (see  the  ])receding  diagram). 
When  half  way  or  more  across  the  east  side  of  the  section  the 
hound,  who  is  carefully  hunting  every  yard  of  the  way,  halts 
and  begins  to  "feather"— that  is,  his  hackles  begin  to  stand  on 
end.  Without  giving  tongue  he  makes  a  sharj)  turn  to  the  left. 
The  huntsman  now  examines  the  road  carefully  and  finds  the 


288       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

slot  (foot-marks)  of  a  boar  that  has  crossed  the  road  (they  sel- 
dom follow  along  in,  or  beside,  the  road).  He  breaks  some 
bushes  and  lays  them  in  the  road  to  mark  the  spot  where  the 
boar  entered  the  section  at  1.  The  huntsman  and  hound  then 
move  on  to  F  and  turn  west  to  E,  then  south,  when  part  of  the 
way  from  E  to  H  the  hound  again  halts  and  "feathers"  to  the 
line  of  a  boar  that  has  crossed  there  from  section  445  to 
section  444.  The  footprints  are  again  carefully  examined  and 
noticed  to  be  the  same  as  were  those  met  with  at  first. 

This  place  is  also  marked,  and  the  huntsman  and  hound 
move  on  to  H,  then  to  G,  and  D.  On  the  way  from  D  to  E  the 
hound  again  liits  the  line,  showing  the  boar  to  have  left  section 
444  and  crossed  into  section  44,  then  on  they  go  to  E  and  turn 
north  until  they  find  that  the  boar  has  crossed  the  road,  E — B, 
into  section  45.  The  huntsman  goes  on  around  section  45  back 
to  E.  The  hound  having  found  no  track  going  out  of  section 
45,  the  game  is  located  as  to  section.  The  huntsman  now  goes 
down  the  lane  from  E  towards  C  until  he  meets  the  lane  from 
F  to  B.  He  follows  this  lane  from  where  they  cross  each  other 
to  B.  The  hound  having  found  no  trace  of  a  boar  having 
crossed  the  lane,  the  huntsman  returns  home  about  9  or  10 
o'clock  and  reports  to  the  INIaster  that  he  has  located  a  boar  in 
the  west  quarter  of  section  45 ;  that  he  is  a  five  or  six  year  old, 
etc.,  etc.  The  INIaster  consults  a  map  of  the  forest  and  deter- 
mines the  method  of  attack,  and  where  to  station  the  riders  and 
the  relay  of  hounds. 

In  the  meantime,  the  members  and  guests  of  the  household 
have  come  down  at  any  time  they  feel  inclined  to  find  tea, 
coffee,  or  chocolate,  bread  and  butter  and  cheese  on  the  dining 
room  table.  Breakfast  will  be  served  at  ten-tliirty,  when  for  the 
first  time  one  is  likely  to  meet  with  the  family,  except  a  stray 
one  now  and  again,  who  is  taking  the  morning  cup  as  you  come 
down,  or  before  you  have  left  the  dining  room.  Breakfast  is 
over  by  eleven-thirty,  and  at  twelve  everytliing  is  in  readiness  to 


Tlic  Chase  of  the  Wild  Boar  28f> 

start,  the  huntsman  and  \vhi])s  are  waiting  on  the  lawn  with 
the  hounds.  The  Master's  hunter  and  the  carriage  that  is  to 
conduct  ]\Iadanie  are  in  waiting  at  the  door.  Friends  and 
guests  are  walking  their  horses  ahout  initil  the  moment  when 
the  Baron  and  Baronne  come  out  to  the  carriage.  When 
headed  hy  the  huntsman  and  hounds,  followed  hy  the  riders  and 
carriages,  the  "Equipage"  moved  towards  section  45. 

The  INIastcr  and  hutitsman  and  riders  are  halted  at  F.  The 
hoar's  kennel,  K,  has  been  approached  in  such  a  way  that  the 
hounds  do  not  cross  the  trail  he  made  when  going  to  the  kennel, 
as  they  might  break  away.  The  hounds  are  now  put  in  couples, 
two  hounds  coupled  together  by  a  short  chain  from  collar  to 
collar,  three  or  four  being  attached  by  short  lines  from  the 
coupling  chains,  to  one  long  line.  In  this  waj^  the  relays  are 
handled  by  servants  w'ho  are  stationed  at  F,  C,  E,  and  possibly 
at  A  and  D.  The  IMaster  then  directs  a  certain  number  of 
riders — men  to  whom  he  has  presented  the  hunt  buttons  and 
who  wear  the  hunt  uniform,  and  are  therefore  entitled  to  wear 
the  horn — to  station  themselves  at  F,  G,  E,  A,  and  D.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  the  forest  in  this  part  is  covered  with  thick 
undergrowth,  so  that  it  is  impossible  to  ride  anywhere  except 
in  the  roads  and  lanes. 

When  time  has  been  given  for  the  hunt  members  and  hounds 
to  reach  their  assigned  places,  the  hounds  are  made  fast  to  a  tree 
by  the  lead  line.  The  Master  and  huntsman  and  three  or  four 
hounds  move  on  via  E,  two  or  three  riders  perhaps  accompany- 
ing them.  When  they  arrive  at  the  spot  Avhere  the  bushes  lie 
in  the  road  at  4  to  mark  the  spot  where  the  boar  crossed  the 
road,  these  two  couples  of  hounds  are  slipped:  at  the  same  time 
the  huntsman  rushes  in  after  them  on  foot,  and  everyone  at  this 
point  begins  to  shout  or  blow  horns  in  order  to  set  the  boar  on 
foot. 

As  before  stated,  the  boars  are  so  conceited  as  to  their  own 
prowess,  that  they  often  disdain  to  move,  especially  after  they 


290       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

are  four  or  five  years  old,  and  will  stand  in  their  tracks 
and  kill  or  wound  every  hound  that  comes  near  them. 
Therefore  all  this  noise  and  racket  to  arouse  him.  It  is  a  very 
dangerous  business  for  huntsmen  or  IVIaster  to  go  in  with  the 
hounds  to  meet  a  full  grown  boar.  Sometimes  such  boars  have 
to  be  shot  in  their  tracks  as  they  will  not  move.  It  is  on  this 
account  that  onlj^  two  or  three  couple  of  selected  hounds  are 
allowed  to  go  in  to  help  start  him.  These  chosen  hounds  have 
previously  been  wounded  by  a  boar  and  know  enough  to  keep 
out  of  liis  range.  If,  however,  they  succeed  in  putting  him  on 
foot  before  the  other  hounds  come  upon  liim  he  will  usually 
run  on  until  overtaken,  in  which  case  he  stands  at  bay,  although 
he  fights  desperately  at  every  stand  he  makes,  until  in  the  end 
his  keen  fighting  edge  is  gone,  and  the  danger  of  his  doing 
harm  to  the  hounds  is  correspondingly  lessened. 

Instantly  hounds  hit  upon  the  line  they  begin  to  give 
tongue,  and  with  the  shouting  and  tooting  of  horns,  we  will 
suppose,  the  boar  is  set  on  foot.  Like  most  other  game  he 
makes  one  or  two  short  turns,  doubhng  back  on  his  track  and 
then  sails  straight  away  through  the  forest. 

As  soon  as  he  straightens  out  for  a  run,  the  Master,  noting 
the  direction,  sounds  a  signal  from  his  horn  to  liberate  the 
hounds  at  C  and  F :  these  run  on  to  join  the  trusty  four  who  are 
already  giving  tongue  to  the  line.  After  doubling  back  on  his 
track,  somewhat  as  shown  in  the  illustration,  the  boar  crosses 
ihe  road  into  the  section  44  at  5. 

Of  course  the  riders  stationed  at  E  and  B  are  on  the  lookout 
and  as  he  crosses  this  road,  they  sound  an  alarm  on  their  horns. 
A  few  moments  later  the  boar  is  seen  by  those  stationed  at  A 
and  E,  as  he  crosses  the  lane  A — E  into  the  southern  quarter 
of  section  444,  when  the  hounds,  at  A  and  B,  are  slipped  and 
rush  through  the  forest  to  join  the  chase. 

The  riders  at  F  rush  down  the  road  towards  E.  From 
C  they  ride  down  the  lane  towards  E.    From  B  and  A  they  ride 


f^r^: 


%^ 


-^     s  * 


The  Chase  uf  the  Wild  Boar  291 

doA^Ti  the  lanes  to  the  centre  of  the  section.  Meanwhile  the 
riders  stationed  at  E  and  D  view  the  boar  crossinfj  out  of 
section  44  into  section  444.  The  remaining  hounds,  at  D  and 
E,  are  now  slipped  and  the  riders  are  racing  at  the  top  of  their 
speed  southwards,  cheered  on  by  the  riders  at  G  and  II,  who 
have  viewed  the  game,  leaving  section  444  at  G  going  South, — 
and  the  chase  is  on. 

There  is  little  or  no  jumping,  but  the  riding  at  times  is  at 
a  pace  httle  short  of  steeplechasing. 

The  wild  boar  runs  remarkably  straight  when  once  really 
away,  and  for  the  next  two  or  three  hours  you  may  have  your 
fill  of  gall()])ing  on  and  ever  on  before  he  comes  to  bay. 

Instantly  he  stops,  the  hounds  change  their  baying  to  bark- 
ing. Tliis  first  halt  lasts  but  a  few  minutes,  the  huntsman  or 
INIaster  rushes  in  to  see  if  there  are  any  killed  or  wounded 
hounds.  If  so,  some  one  with  a  horn  is  left  in  charge.  The 
boar  having  recovered  liis  "second  wind,"  again  rushes  away  for 
another  twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour,  halts  again  and  once 
more  proceeds  to  give  battle  to  his  old  tormenters,  then  on 
again  for  ten  minutes,  and  another  stand.  Again  he  is  on 
foot,  but  more  slowly  now.  When  he  halts  again  it  will,  in  all 
probability,  be  his  last  stand. 

Hounds  are  baying  and  barking  at  his  heels  as  he  plods 
wearily  on.  Now  the  riders  cheer  on  the  pack  "Ilallali !  Ilallali ! 
Hallah!"  The  blaster  dismounts  with  short  sword  in  hand  and 
going  up  amongst  the  hounds  dispatches  the  boar  with  a  quick 
thrust,  just  back  of  the  elbow  joint,  that  pierces  his  heart. 

The  wounded  hounds  are  looked  after,  needle  and  thread 
being  used  to  sew  up  their  wounds,  lint  and  bandages  to  dress 
them,  and  a  wagon,  that  answers  for  an  ambulance,  is  soon  at 
hand  to  carrj'^  them  to  the  kennel  hospital,  where  they  are  as 
faithfully  attended  as  a  person  would  be,  and  made  much  of 
by  every  member  of  the  Baron's  household. 

The  fmieral  obsequies  are  a  most  ceremonious  affair.    The 


292       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Master  sounds  the  death  rally  that  calls  together  stray  riders 
and  hounds.  A  gun  is  also  fired  as  a  signal  to  those  who  may 
be  out  of  hearing  of  the  horn. 

The  boar's  carcase  is  now  brought  out  in  the  liighway  or 
open  grass  plot,  and  the  hunt  servants  attend  to  taking  off  the 
pelt,  head  and  feet.  When  the  pelt  has  been  removed  it  is 
again  spread  over  the  carcase  and  the  funeral  ceremony 
"L'Hallah — la  curee"  begins.  In  the  meantime  the  ladies, 
who  have  accompanied  the  chase  in  carriages  and  carts,  come 
on  with  wine  and  cold  meats,  etc.,  and  a  general  visiting  and 
congratulation  goes  on. 

Twelve  men  in  uniform,  each  carrying  a  horn  that  encircles 
the  body,  as  already  described,  stand  facing  the  carcase,  six 
on  one  side  and  six  on  the  other.  On  the  other  two  sides  stand 
rows  of  spectators,  completing  the  circle. 

First  the  six  men  on  one  side  play  the  first  line  of  the 
death  song,  the  other  six  play  the  next  line  and  so  on  alter- 
nately through  the  song,  the  horns  being  purposely  keyed  to 
make  the  music  harmonious. 

How  beautiful  it  sounds  echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the 
great  silent  forest !  Altogether  the  scene  is  quite  indescribable. 
The  hounds,  meanwhile,  are  standing  in  the  circle  between  the 
musicians  and  baying  as  only  French  boarhounds  can. 

When  the  last  verse  is  being  rendered  the  huntsman  steps 
to  the  carcase  and,  taking  the  boar  by  the  ears,  moves  the  head 
right  and  left  as  if  it  were  ahve,  until  the  hounds  are  quite  be- 
side themselves  with  eagerness  to  pounce  upon  it. 

As  the  last  notes  of  the  last  line  die  away  an  attendant 
removes  the  head  and  pelt  and  at  a  signal  from  the  huntsman, 
every  hound  rushes  in.  "Halt!"  shouts  the  huntsman,  when 
every  hound  has  his  nose  witliin  a  foot  of  the  prey,  and  every 
hound  stops  and  moves  not  a  muscle,  so  well  are  they  trained. 
When  the  lot  have  their  position,  twenty  odd,  with  noses  point- 
ing towards  their  game  and  not  two  feet  away,  the  huntsman 


The  Chase  of  the  Wild  Boar 


293 


cries,  "Charge";  and  no  sooner  said  than  done,  every  hound  has 
his  teeth  fastened  into  the  carcase,  and  the  tug  of  war  begins. 
W^hile  the  snap})ing  and  snarling  pack  are  surging  first  one 
way  and  then  the  other,  now  losing  hold  and  recovering  it 
again,  piece  by  piece,  joint  by  joint,  the  parts  give  way  and 
are  devoured.  Amid  this  scene  the  crowd  sings  the  death  song 
as  it  had  been  previously  played.  The  special  words  and  music 
of  Baron  de  Uorlodot's  hunt  are  given  herewi 


I  grand  qa  lop        II  est  sui.vi   parOorlo.dol. 

Sometimes  it  is  too  late  to  undertake  this  ceremony  in  the 
woods  far  from  home,  and  the  boar  is  carted  home  and  laid 
out  upon  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  kennels.  A  bonfire  is  kindled 
and  torches  are  lighted  for  additional  illumination  to  the  scene. 

When  it  is  all  over  and  the  hounds  have  been  kenneled,  we 
return  to  the  house  to  discuss  the  run  over  and  over  again  as 
we  sit  about  the  hospitable  board. 


Bftron  (If  Dnrlodot's  Hunt  Button 


"The  prudent  huntsman,  therefore,  will  supply 
With  annual,  large  recriiits  his  broken  pack 
And  propagate  their  kind:  as  from  the  root 
Fresh  scions  still  spring  forth,  and  daily  yield 
New  blooming  honours  to  the  parent-tree." 

Somervile. 

XXVII 

WILD  STAG  HUNTING  IN  FRANCE 

A  DAY  WITH  THE  MARQUIS  DE  CORNULIER^S  FRENCH  HOUNDS — 
TAKING  THE  STAG  IN  A  LAKE — A  MOST  EXCITING  DAY's 
SPORT. 

rilHE  wild  stags  of  France  are  very  similar  to  the  wild  red 
■*■  deer  of  the  Devon  and  Somerset  country  in  England. 
They  are  much  larger  than  the  common  red  deer  of  North 
America,  and  but  little  smaller  than  the  elk  of  the  Rockies, 
which  animal  they  resemble  very  much. 

They  are  located,  and  the  chase  is  started  with  a  few  hounds, 
joined  by  relays  as  the  stag  gets  well  away,  very  much  as 
already  described  in  the  chapter  on  Wild  Boar  Hunting. 

Through  the  kindness  of  Baron  de  Dorlodot,  the  writer  was 
enabled  to  participate  in  the  chase  with  two  celebrated  packs  of 
staghounds  in  France. 

Our  first  day  to  stag  was  with  the  celebrated  pack  of  pure 
French  hounds,  owned  by  the  Marquis  de  Cornulier.  These 
were  certainly  the  most  musical  pack  the  writer  has  ever  heard. 
They  are  said  to  have  originally  been  produced  by  a  cross 


Wild  Slag  lliintiucj  in  France  295 

between  the  hloodhouiul  and  the  greyhound,  or  possibly  the 
greyhound  was  in  some  cases  used  as  the  sire.  At  any  rate, 
they  resemble  the  greyhound  in  conformation  quite  as  much,  if 
not  more,  than  they  do  the  bloodhound.  They  are  even  more 
intelligent-looking  than  the  average  English  foxhound.  Kven 
the  celebrated  Grafton  or  Pytchley  hounds  in  England  that 
are  noted  for  most  musical  tongues  are  not  to  be  compared 
■with  this  pack  of  French  hounds  for  music. 

The  stag,  in  this  particular  chase,  kept  twisting  and  doub- 
ling his  track,  not  going  more  than  a  mile  in  any  one  direction, 
until  finally,  as  is  customary,  he  took  to  water  (a  small  pond 
of  some  twenty  or  tliirty  acres) . 

The  shores  for  the  most  part  were  fringed  with  cat-tails, 
marsh  grass  and  flags.  What  a  sight  it  was!  jNIy  pen  seems 
entirely  unable  to  describe  the  scene.  The  stag  was  quite  fresh 
when  he  entered  the  pond;  the  hounds,  however,  were  right  at 
his  heels,  and  twenty-five  couples  went  plunging  over  the  bank 
— a  drop  of  three  or  four  feet — in  the  most  fearless  style  that 
can  be  imagined ;  all  giving  tongue,  and  the  lot  of  them  swim- 
ming as  fast  as  possible  after  their  game.  Their  music,  as  I 
have  said,  was  uncommonly  melodious  when  on  the  land,  but 
out  on  the  water  it  was  even  more  so,  and  there  was  plenty 
of  it.  Across  the  pond  the  stag  takes  to  a  patch  of  thick  grow- 
ing rushes,  which  close  in  behind  him,  and  shut  out  the  hounds 
as  they  are  unable  to  touch  tlieir  feet  on  the  bottom  or  penetrate 
the  maze  by  swimming.  They  finally  go  ashore  in  open  water. 
The  stag,  meanwhile,  is  hidden  in  the  rushes.  The  hounds  are 
now  sent  in  from  shore,  the  huntsman  wading  through  the  break 
to  encourage  them  on.  In  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  out  goes 
the  stag  into  the  pond  again,  the  hounds  standing  on  the  shore 
plunge  in  after  him,  and  once  more  the  "heavenly  music"  fills 
valley,  hill  and  forest  for  miles  around.  Forward  and  back, 
up  and  down  the  pond  swims  the  deer,  with  the  same  stately  air 
and  majestic  carriage  of  the  head   as   he  had  on  land,   and 


296       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

plougliing  through  the  water  like  a  steam  tug,  with  forty  or 
more  hounds  swimming  after  liim.  Thus  the  chase  went  on, 
the  stag  liiding  in  the  rushes,  only  to  be  driven  out  again  with 
the  clamorous  pack  in  his  wake.  Once  he  came  out  in  open 
water,  and  ran  for  twenty  or  thirty  rods  inland,  a  portion  of  the 
pack  right  at  his  heels ;  but  fatigued  and  heavy  with  the  water, 
he  saw  tliis  move  was  a  mistake  and  returned  again  into  the 
pond. 

Nearly  three  hours  were  those  hounds  taking  that  deer 
after  he  reached  the  water ;  they  were  about  two  hours  upon  his 
trail  before  that.  It  was  dark  by  tliis  time,  but  a  bonfire  lit  up 
the  scene,  and  the  funeral  dirge  was  sounded,  the  hounds  giving 
tongue  the  while.  When  the  last  honours  had  been  paid  to  the 
stag  and  the  stoi-y  of  the  chase  and  the  endurance  of  the  hounds 
had  been  recounted  in  song,  we  said  farewell  to  one  o€  the  most 
exciting  days'  chase  the  writer  ever  joarticiiJated  in. 

After  the  two  days'  wild  boar  hunting  with  the  Baron  de 
Dorlodot's  hounds,  and  the  day  with  the  Marquis  de  Cornuher's 
staghoimds,  just  described,  it  was  arranged  that  we  should 
spend  the  fourth  and  last  day  of  the  writer's  visit  on  tliis  occa- 
sion in  following  the  staghounds  of  the  Marquis  de  Chambray, 
some  twenty  miles  distant. 

"For,"  said  mine  host,  "the  IMarquis  de  Chambray  is  the 
most  noted  Master  of  hounds  in  France,  and  his  hounds  are  the 
direct  descendants  of  the  Royal  pack  of  King  Louis  XI.  They 
are  entirely  different  from  any  other  hounds,  and  I  should  not 
like  you  to  return  without  having  a  day  with  them." 

"But  twenty  miles  is  too  far  to  go  to  a  meet." 

"We  will  go  in  the  automobile.  I  will  wire  to  a  hveryman 
in  the  neighbourhood  to  meet  us  with  a  two-wheeled  cart,  and 
we  will  see  what  we  can,  driving  along  the  roads  and  lanes  of 
the  forest." 

The  next  day,  just  as  the  clock  had  gone  eleven,  we  started 
for  the  meet,  which  was  at  noon  and  twenty  miles  away. 


Wild  Stag  Hunting  in  France  297 

The  Baron  de  Dorlodot  is  a  very  Jehu  to  drive,  and  he  sent 
the  machine  ilyiug  over  the  beautiful  roads  at  the  rate  of  forty 
miles  per  hour  for  over  a  good  part  of  the  journey.  It  was  a 
glorious  ride,  and  the  writer's  first  experience  in  a  conveyance 
of  this  kind.  All  the  time  there  kept  running  in  his 
mind  the  words  of  Sheridan's  famous  ride  to  Winchester. 
Eleven-thirty-three!  and  the  JNIarquis  de  Chambray  only  five 
miles  away. 

We  arrived  at  the  meet  in  time  for  a  bit  of  lunch  at  a  farm- 
house, where  we  were  introduced  to  the  venerable  Master  and 
several  of  the  prominent  members  of  the  chase,  and  with  time 
to  inspect  the  hounds  before  going  on  to  covert. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  decline  of  athletic  sports  in 
France  or  the  gradual  disappearance  of  the  famous  Royal  hunt- 
ing establishments  of  the  country,  still  the  Normans  may  point 
>vith  pride  to  a  number  of  gentlemen  who  have  presei-ved,  to 
the  present  time,  the  ardent  love  of  the  chase,  and  who  take 
pride  in  conducting  the  same  in  the  brilliant  costumes,  and 
according  to  the  usages  and  traditions,  of  former  times.  First 
among  the  luimber  must  be  mentioned  this  famous  ^Master  of 
staghounds,  the  JNIarquis  de  Chambray.  During  his  JNIaster- 
ship  up  to  the  day  of  our  visit,  January  24th,  '01,  he  had  taken 
his  nineteen  hundred  and  eighth  stag.  Although  his  hair  is  as 
white  as  snow,  he  seems  as  hale  and  hearty  as  most  men  of  half 
his  years.  In  respect  to  the  ancient  custom  of  the  chase,  he 
still  wears  deerskin  breeches,  tanned  wth  hair  on,  as  may  be 
seen  in  the  accompanying  illustration.  It  is  claimed  by  the 
members  of  the  hunt,  that  should  any  of  the  famous  hunting 
Kings  of  France  come  to  life,  they  could  find  little  to  criticise 
in  the  methods  of  locating  the  game,  the  chase  itself  or  the 
breeding  and  management  of  the  hounds;  furthermore,  this 
most  affable  gentleman  is  held  up  as  an  example  of  the  highest 
type  of  the  French  nobility  of  the  old  regime. 

We  must  hasten  on  to  notice  the  hounds,  for  they  arc  hardly 


298       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

less  celebrated  than  their  indomitable  Master.  After  lunch, 
the  WTiter  was  taken  in  hand  by  INIonsieur  Roger  Laurent, 
nephew  to  the  JNIarquis  de  Chambray,  for  a  proper  introduction 
of  their  celebrated  pack  of  hounds  and  a  bit  of  their  interesting 
history. 


Marquis  de  Cornulier's  Hunt  Button 


"Resolved  to  die, 
He  fears  no  more." 

XXVIII 

A  DAY  WITH  THE  IMARQUIS  DE  CHAMBRAY'S 
HOUNDS 

THE  WHITE  HOUNDS  OF  THE  KING ST/VRTING  THE  LORDLY  STAG 

A    PERCHEUON    STALLION    IN    HARNESS HAIJ.ALI !    HAL- 

LALl! — THE   1908th   STAG — IN  DEFENCE  OF  THE  CHASE. 

IT  was  during  the  reign  of  Louis  XI,  who  came  to  the  throne 
in  1461,"  said  Commandant  Roger  Laurent,  "that  this  par- 
ticular breed  of  hounds  originated.  King  Louis  XI  received 
from  a  poor  gentleman  a  certain  white  dog,  called  'Souliard,' 
and  it  was  from  this  celebrated  dog,  that  the  famous  race,  ever 
since  known  as  'The  White  Hounds  of  the  King,'  descended."* 

Louis  XII  continued  in  the  same  hne,  and  so  on  down  to  the 
reign  of  Charles  IX,  who  ])ublished  a  book  on  hunting,  and 
could  not  say  enough  in  jjraise  of  this  race  of  dogs. 

Henry  IV  of  Englancl  was  so  pleased  with  the  working  of 
these  hounds,  that  he  introduced  the  blood  into  his  own  Royal 
pack.    James  I  of  England  took  over  a  pack  of  them,  and  also 

*It  is  said  in  the  history  of  the  times,  according  to  an  article 
in  "L<?  Sport  Universal,"  that  on  account  of  the  way  they  distinguislicd 
themselves  above  other  hounds  in  tlie  chase,  tlie  King  decided  to  keep 
no  others. 


300       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

commanded  certain  French  gentlemen  to  go  to  England  to 
teach  the  lords  and  nobles  of  that  country  the  true  principles  of 
stag  hunting. 

Under  Louis  XIII  the  Royal  hounds  consisted  of  two 
packs.  They  were  known  as  the  "Great  White  dogs  of  the 
King,"  and  the  "Small  White  dogs  of  the  King."  The  great 
stag  hunter,  King  Louis  XIV,  had  a  hundred  of  these  hounds, 
and  under  Louis  XV  they  numbered  one  hundred  and  tliirty- 
two. 

These  hounds  are  mostly  white,  with  light  fawn  markings, 
of  medium  size.  They  seem  to  be  a  distinct  family,  as  they 
have  little  or  no  resemblance  to  either  the  present  French  or 
English  hounds.  Some  of  them  seem  to  show  the  effects  of  in- 
and-in  breeding,  but  as  a  rule,  they  are  a  very  uniform  and 
beautiful  lot,  that  are  worth  going  a  long  distance  to  see. 

Luncheon  and  the  inspection  of  the  hounds  over,  the  vener- 
able Master  sounds  the  horn  as  a  signal  for  moving  on  to  covert, 
and  we  look  about  for  the  two-wheeled  cart,  which  the  Baron 
de  Dorlodot  said  he  would  wire  to  have  in  waiting.  Imagine 
the  writer's  surprise  to  see  the  Baron  making  for  a  big,  lumber- 
ing, two-wheeled  cart,  a  sort  of  gig;  at  least  it  had  a  top  let 
down  for  the  occasion,  and  was  hung  on  platform  springs.  The 
wheels  of  this  cart  were  quite  heavy  enough  for  a  farm  wagon, 
the  shafts  were  large  poles  of  natural  second  growth  oak,  while 
between  them  was  a  great  white  Percheron  stallion,  over  six- 
teen hands  Iiigh,  who  would  weigh  something  like  sixteen  hun- 
dred pounds.  The  trap  was  about  half  that  weight  and  the 
three  occupants  added  at  least  five  hundred  more.  The  turnout 
figured  out  something  like  this,  a  sixteen  hundred  pound  horse 
to  a  thirteen  hundred  pound  load. 

"Fancy,"  said  the  writer  to  himself,  "our  trying  to  keep  the 
pace  of  a  pack  of  hounds  after  deer,  in  such  a  turnout  as  this!" 
The  whole  thing  seemed  such  a  burlesque,  that  the  writer  never 
expected  to  see  even  the  tail  of  a  crippled  hound.    He  felt  sure 


THK    MAKQIIS    I)E   fHAMHRAY 


J'hc  Marqiii.s  dc  Cliaiiil)r(i//'.s  Hounds  ;}01 

he  could  get  on  quite  as  well,  and  probably  (juite  as  fast  and  a 
great  deal  more  comfortably  on  foot.  Fortunately,  he  kept 
most  of  these  thoughts  to  himself,  but  he  evidently  said  or 
looked  enough  to  call  from  the  Baron,  "You  shall  see." 

The  driver  perched  himself  upon  an  improvised  seat  on  the 
dashboard,  his  feet  braced  against  the  crossbar  of  the  shafts, 
wliile  the  genial  Baron  and  the  writer  occupied  the  blanket- 
covered  seat  behind  Iiim.  The  traces  were  very  slack  and  when 
this  great  stallion  went  into  the  collar,  the  conveyance  started 
with  a  jerk  that  nearly  upset  us  backwards. 

We  followed  along  slowly  in  the  procession. 

Meantime,  the  relays  of  hounds  and  riders  had  gone  on  to 
take  up  their  respective  stations,  similar  to  the  method  described 
in  starting  the  chase  of  the  wild  boar,  two  or  three  couple  only 
remaining  with  the  INIaster,  in  charge  of  one  of  the  hunt  serv- 
ants. These  hounds,  in  England,  are  called  "Tufters,"  and  are 
the  most  trusty  and  obedient  hounds  of  the  pack.  These  forests 
are  full  of  deer,  therefore  it  is  necessary  to  single  out  and  get 
the  one  to  be  hunted  well  away,  before  letting  on  the  pack. 

The  stags  of  full  age  are  the  ones  to  be  hunted.  Such  a 
one  is  located  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning,  when,  like  the 
wild  red  deer  of  England,  or  the  wild  boar  of  France,  he  has 
retired  from  his  feeding  ground  to  a  quiet  retreat  in  the  forest, 
there  to  enjoy  liis  cud  and  sleep,  sometimes  alone,  but  more 
often  in  company  of  a  number  of  other  stags,  or  the  younger 
members  of  the  tribe. 

To  single  out  a  warrantable  stag  from  the  number,  and  set 
him  well  away  with  the  "Tufters"  to  his  hne,  requires,  in  these 
great  forests,  great  skill  and  woodcraft. 

Presently,  we  arrive  at  a  place  where  there  are  deer  tracks 
crossing  the  road  in  such  numbers  as  to  suggest  a  floek  of 
sheep.  The  ^Master  invites  us  to  inspect  the  footprints  made  by 
the  stag  we  are  following.  Toadies  and  gentlemen  alight  from 
their  carriages,  and  many  of  the  riders  are  also  shown  these 


302       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

slots.  This  adds  greatly  to  the  interest  and  enables  all  to  feel 
that  they  are  personally  engaged  in  the  chase.  Often  a  gentle- 
man or  lady  who  is  driving  to  hounds,  is  of  great  assistance  to 
the  hunt.  These  footprints  are  very  carefully  studied.  It  is 
surprising  how  some  of  the  ladies  can  carry  in  their  mind's  eye 
most  accurate  details  as  to  size  and  shajie,  and  slight  variations 
between  right  and  left  fore-foot,  or  a  flaw  in  tlie  shell  of  a  hind- 
foot,  in  fact  the  slightest  irregularity  in  anything  about  the 
footmarks. 

While  we  are  carefully  examining  these  details,  the  relays 
of  hounds  and  hunters  have  stationed  themselves  as  the  Master 
has  directed.  At  a  signal  from  the  INIaster  the  "Tufters"  are 
slipped,  and  away  they  go  into  the  forest,  cheered  on  by  voice 
and  horn  to  the  lair  of  their  game. 

"What  Ho!  There!  Look  to  our  stalhon!"  No  longer  can 
he  be  called  a  lumbering  cart  horse,  for  at  the  sound  of  the 
horns,  he  rears  in  liis  track  until  it  looks  as  if  he  would  surely 
turn  somersault  backwards  into  our  laps.  This  accounted 
for  the  unusually  long  traces.  Had  he  been  properly  hitched, 
something  must  have  given  way  at  this  extraordinary  per- 
formance. 

Our  driver  was  wearing  a  smock  coat,  blouse,  or  whatever 
it  may  be  called.  It  was  puckered  across  the  breast,  and 
gathered  in  about  the  low  fitting  neck,  and  came  well  down 
below  the  knees.  From  beneath  its  ample  folds  he  now  draws 
what  in  the  Western  country  would  be  called  a  "black  snake" 
lash  (a  limber  black  leather  cutting- wliip)  about  four  feet 
long,  which  he  flourished  about  our  heads  wth  a  crack  like  the 
report  of  a  gun.  At  this,  the  great  stalhon  comes  down  to  the 
earth  again;  then,  with  a  wild  challenging  neigh,  that  fairly 
shakes  the  forest,  the  noble  beast  springs  into  a  canter  wth  his 
first  stride.  Talk  about  riding  on  a  gun-carriage  of  light 
artillery,  or  on  a  fire  engine  at  full  gallop,  or  being  run  away 
with  in  a  lumber  wagon  over  a  corduroy  road,  all  of  wliich  the 


The  Marquis  dc  Chamhrmj's  Hounds-  303 

writer  knows  by  experience  to  he  of  a  stirring-  nature! — well, 
this  two-wheeled  French  gig  with  a  wild  stallion  to  draw  it, 
and  a  very  devil  of  a  driver  with  a  black  snake  beliind  liim, 
was  gun-carriage,  fire  engine,  and  a  runaway  lumber  wagon 
combined. 

Out  from  their  retreat  broke  at  least  twenty  wild  and 
startled  deer.  It  was  as  grand  a  sight  as  ever  a  huntsman 
could  wish  to  see.  Among  the  lot,  his  head  with  towering 
antlers  sweeping  liigh,  came  forth  the  lordly  stag.  What  a 
sight!  The  females  and  younger  members  of  the  herd  bounded 
away,  but  not  the  monarch.  Stately  and  proud,  he  moved 
along  as  became  his  station.  The  woods,  meanwliile,  were 
ringing  with  shouts  of  men,  tooting  of  horns,  and  baying  of 
hounds,  to  wliich  music  our  stallion  set  up  such  a  roar  as  would 
shame  a  lion. 

The  writer  has  witnessed  many  stirring  sights  in  the  forests 
after  the  lordly  moose,  caribou  and  deer,  but  the  carriage  and 
gentlemanly  bearing  of  this  noble  stag,  was  a  sight  never  to 
be  forgotten.  It  recalled  an  old  school-day  couplet  among  the 
favourite  selection  for  speaking  pieces. 

"Ho!  cowards!  have  ye  left  me  to  meet  him  all  alone?" 
Thus  our  grand,  our  haughty,  our  noble  game,  disdaining  to 
run,  walked  across  the  opening  and  disappeared  amojig  the 
dense  underbrush.  On  came  the  hounds,  joined  by  relajs  from 
different  directions. 

Crack!  Crack!  went  the  black  snake,  and  the  chase  was  on. 
What  a  ride!  it  was  bad  enough  along  the  forest  road.  We 
entered  a  lane  with  such  a  sharp  tin-n  to  the  right  that  the  left 
wheel  of  the  cart  went  si)inning  around  in  mid  air.  There  were 
no  carriages  in  front  of  us,  and  the  way  that  great  wild 
stallion  snatched  that  two-wheeled  trap  down  this  lane,  was,  I 
am  sure,  a  record  breaker.  Farm  wagons  had  cut  great  ruts 
in  soft  places  during  the  wet  season.  Now  it  was  dry,  hard 
and  lumpy.     In  some  jilaces  the  undergrowth  met  over  the 


304       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hotind 

centre  of  the  lane,  for  wliich  we  had  to  duck  our  heads  and  be 
sharp  about  it,  too.  Dead  sticks  and  hmbs  blown  from  trees, 
lay  here  and  there  across  the  track.  Some  of  them  crushed  be- 
neath our  chariot  wheels,  others  sent  us  in  mid  air  above  the 
seat,  wliich  picked  us  up  now  and  again  in  a  way  to  loosen  our 
back  hair.  On  we  rode,  hanging  on  for  dear  hfe.  We  saw 
it  all,  at  least,  we  believe  we  saw  as  much  of  the  run  as  any 
one  mounted  rider. 

Hallah!  HallaH!  We  were  driving  more  slowly  now.  At 
last  we  saw  the  stag,  not  two  rods  away,  moving  slowly  along 
parallel  to  the  way  we  were  going.  His  head  was  still  carried 
erect,  but  not  in  the  jaunty  light  air  as  at  the  beginning.  His 
crown  of  antlers  was  getting  heavy.  Thirty  hounds  were  bark- 
ing and  baying  in  his  wake.  The  end  was  near  at  hand.  He 
halts,  throws  uj)  Iiis  head  in  his  same  lordly  f  asliion,  and  stands 
as  motionless  as  a  bronze  statue.  "Hallali!  Hallali!"  shout 
the  riders,  "Hallah !  Hallali !"  All  fear  seems  to  have  left  the 
stag.  He  is  entirely  oblivious  to  everything  and  everybody 
about  liim.  He  looks  as  unconcerned  as  the  great  bronze  stag 
on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  chateau  de  Chambray.  He  seems 
to  be  hstening  for  some  far  away  sound  in  a  dreamy  sort  of 
way.  In  fact,  he  seemed,  as  no  doubt  he  was,  in  a  sort  of  cata- 
leptic state,  that  a  kind  providence  provides  for  all  in  the 
face  of  death.  This  is  Ms  last  stand.  The  Master  inquires 
who  would  like  to  dispatch  him.  A  young  man  in  scarlet  and 
wearing  the  hunt  buttons  of  the  Marquis  de  Chambray  quickly 
dismounts  and  walks  straight  up  to  the  stag,  who  turns  not  nor 
moves  a  muscle.  The  notes  of  the  death  song  from  the  accom- 
panying horns  tell  the  great  forest  for  miles  about,  that  the 
noble  sjiirit  of  the  stag  has  paid  the  debt.  The  stag  is  then 
brought  out  on  a  beautiful  gi-assy  mound,  where  the  roads 
and  highway  of  the  forest  meet,  and  the  beautiful  ceremony 
about  the  carcase,  as  already  described,  takes  place. 

Congratulations,  a  sandwich,  a  bit  of  cold  meat,  and  bottles 


The  Marquis  dc  Cliaiitbrai/'.s  Iloumh  'Miry 

of  wine  come  forth  in  <rreat  abuiulance  from  some  mysterious 
source  and  employ  the  hulies  in  giving-  and  the  gentlemen  in 
receiving. 

The  happiest  man  in  all  the  crowd  was  one  Yankee,  as 
you  could  easily  tell  by  the  expression  of  his  face,  as  he  started 
for  home  with  a  boar's  head  and  pelt  from  the  Baron  de  Dor- 
lodot,  taken  in  the  chase  the  day  before,  the  foot  of  the  stag 
taken  in  the  pond,  from  the  JNIarquis  de  Cornulier,  and  the 
head,  pelt,  and  a  foot  of  stag  number  one  thousand  nine  hun- 
dred and  eight,*  from  the  INIarquis  de  Chambray.  These 
tropliies  were  the  next  day  put  in  pickle  by  a  taxidermist  in 
London,  and  thus  taken  to  America  to  be  mounted.  They  now 
grace  the  walls  of  a  modest  little  home,  where  the  owner  re- 
gards them  as  the  most  priceless  trophies  of  his  collection. 

As  the  writer  looks  back  upon  the  many  glorious  days  he 
has  spent  wth  horse  and  hound,  guide  and  gun,  yacht  and 
paddle,  his  only  regret  is  that  so  few  of  his  countrymen  know 
the  meaning  of  it  all.  He  feels  that  in  comparison  with  most 
men  he  has  lived  a  hundred  years. 

"Be  it  fair  or  foul,  come  rain  or  shine. 
The  joJ/s  I  have  possessed  in  spite  of  fate  are  mine, 
Not  heaven  itself  o'er  the  past  hath  porcer. 
What  has  been,  has  been,  I  have  had  my  hour." 

The  general  idea  in  America  seems  to  be  that  only  the 
wealthy  can  indulge  in  such  sports.  This  is  a  mistaken  notion 
altogether,  as  the  writer  is  a  living  example  to  the  contrary. 
The  men  who  seem  to  get  the  most  out  of  life  are  not  the 

*Thc  illustrious  marquis  celebrated  the  capture  of  his  two  thousandtli 
stag  in  1902.  He  was  then  over  seventy  years  old  and  when  the  writer 
last  visited  the  Baron  de  Dorlodot,  in  1903,  had  taken  his  two  thousand 
and  twentv-second  stafj. 


30G       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

wealthy  or  the  idle  rich,  but  the  hard  working  business  men, 
who  steal  a  half  holiday  whenever  they  can.  If  it  is  in  them, 
they'll  find  the  way.  •■ 

There  is  no  country  in  the  world  where  one  can  find  so 
many  men  and  women  who  possess  the  financial  independence 
to  enable  them  to  indulge  in  such  pastimes.  The  lamentable 
thing  about  it  is  that  as  the  rich  grow  richer,  at  the  same  time 
they  seem  to  be  giving  way  more  and  more  to  idle  luxuries. 
It  is  only  a  case  of  history  repeating  itself.  Still,  strange  as 
it  may  seem,  some  well  meaning  men  and  women  are  doing  all 
they  can  to  discourage  the  chase  in  everj^  form.  They  don't 
want  the  foxes  killed,  nor  the  horses  ridden  so  hard  as  is  neces- 
sary to  go  the  pace.  At  the  death  of  a  chicken-thief  fox  they 
rave.    If  a  rider  is  injured,  it  "serves  him  right." 

The  strange  thing  about  this  dumb  animal  worship  is  that 
the  more  dumb  and  helpless  the  animal  is,  the  more  some  people 
gush.  There  is  no  sentiment  in  human  nature  so  blind  as  exag- 
gerated heart  sentiment,  which  is  the  usual  source  whence 
comes  a  lot  of  sentimental  bosh  and  fairy  tales  in  the  form  of 
nature  studies.  A  morbid  feminine  instinct  seems  to  possess 
some  eff'eminate  men  and  over  sentimental  women,  not  toward 
the  human  but  toward  the  dumb  race. 

We  have  all  heard  of  the  woman  who  kissed  her  cow  and 
clubbed  her  husband  over  the  head  with  the  milking  stool, 
because  he  allowed  the  cow  to  kick  over  the  pail  of  milk.  "Dear 
old  Bossie."  "Brutal  man."  The  most  consistent  dumb  animal 
worshipper  the  writer  ever  heard  of  was  the  chap  who  could  not 
bring  himself  to  eat  an  oyster,  because  it  would  kill  the  oyster. 
"Bless  his  precious  little  heart."  Whose  heart?  Well,  help 
yourself. 

The  following  is  given  as  a  sample  criticism  on  the  chase. 
It  is  from  a  man  in  a  western  state.  He  says  he  "is  shocked  at 
the  barbarity  of  the  foreign  idea  of  sport."  He  says  he  has  "a 
choking  throb  of  pity  for  the  hunted,  and  furthermore  that 


The  Marquis  dc  Chambrni/'s  Hounds  307 

although  the  people  of  the  United  States  may  not  have  reached 
a  perfect  understanding  of  the  ethics  of  true  sportsmanship, 
they  lia\e  advanced  so  far  beyond  the  spirit  of  the  chase  as  to 
cause  pride  and  gratitude  to  every  citizen  among  us." 

While  the  act  of  taking  the  life  of  game  is  in  itself  no  edify- 
ing sight  and  is  part  of  the  chase  very  few  of  the  followers  ever 
witness  or  ever  take  part  in,  the  writer  is  supremely  thankful 
that  he  has  not  "advanced  so  far  beyond  the  spirit  of  the  chase" 
as  to  have  lost  the  manly  courage  necessary  to  pursue  it  or  to 
have  advanced  so  far  by  our  so  called  "higher  civihsation,"  as 
to  have  his  mind  filled  with  effeminate  ideas  and  ways  of  think- 
ing. Sentimental  sentiment  is  something  very  pretty  to  eon- 
template  but  in  tliis  case  as  usual  it  goes  without  logic  or 
reason. 

Here  is  a  person  living  in  a  western  state,  where  stock-rais- 
ing is  the  principal  industry,  holding  up  his  hands  in  holy 
horror  at  the  death  of  a  stag  taken  in  the  chase,  and  thankful 
that  he  is  in  "advanced"  America  where  such  things  are  not 
considered  sportsmanlike.  At  the  same  time  in  his  own  state 
there  runs  every  day  of  the  year  a  river  of  blood  from  the 
throats  of  innocent  domestic  animals  at  the  thought  of  which 
he  never  turns  a  hair.  How  can  such  persons  tilled  with 
"choking  pity"  for  the  death  of  a  stag,  bring  themselves  to  eat 
the  meat  of  domestic  animals  slaughtered,  not  in  mercy  to 
those  who  are  left  behind,  as  are  the  stags  and  wild  boars  in  the 
forests  of  France,  where  they  are  too  numerous  for  their  own 
good,  but  to  be  devoured?  How  can  such  critics  of  the  chase 
ever  eat  lamb  that  has  had  its  frolicking  days  of  innocent  play 
in  company  with  a  mother  brought  suddenly  to  an  end  by  an 
unfeeling  barbarous  butcher?  How  can  one  "choking  with 
sentiment"  for  the  hunted,  bear  to  visit  a  stock  farm  or  lend 
his  presence  to  an  Agricultural  Fair  where  he  must  mingle  with 
farmers  and  butchers  whose  business  on  the  one  hand  is  to 
rear,  on  the  other  to  butcher,  thousands  of  "iimocent  lambs," 


308       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

"pretty  pigs,"  and  "darling  little  calves,"  that  are  purposely- 
brought  into  the  world  by  the  design  of  man  only  to 
have  their  throats  cut  and  give  their  hves  up  as  a  sacrifice 
to  man? 

There  are  hundreds  of  thousands  of  domestic  animals  in 
every  western  state  yearly  thrown  into  pens  with  not  one  single 
chance  for  their  lives,  not  one  single  hope  of  escape,  which 
every  sportsman  gives  to  every  animal  of  the  chase.  In  fact 
all  animals  of  the  chase  are  given  nearly  equal  chances  and  if 
taken  are  usually  outwitted  or  outgeneralled  at  their  own 
game. 

What  would  our  western  critics  advise  if  a  delegation  of 
farmers  adjoining  his  property  should  come  to  liim  as  they 
did  to  the  Baron  de  Dorlodot  and  say  that  if  he  did  not  do 
something  to  keep  down  the  number  of  wild  boars  in  this  for- 
est, they  must  bring  the  question  to  the  courts,  for  they  were 
destroying  their  crojjs  to  an  unusual  extent?  Would  he  say, 
as  the  Baron  de  Dorlodot  did,  "Gentlemen,  I  am  getting  old, 
I  am  now  hunting  the  wild  boar  two  days  a  week ;  I  will  here- 
after hunt  him  four  days  a  week  and  if  that  does  not  do,  I 
will  have  to  hunt  him  six  days  in  the  week." 

There  are  some  effeminate  men  and  some  sentimental 
women  who  would  sooner  tie  a  bit  of  perfumed  ribbon  about 
a  fox's  neck  or  a  fish's  tail  and  let  them  go  again,  the  one  to 
be  caught  in  a  steel  trap,  or  to  die  of  starvation  or  disease,  the 
other  to  be  devoured  by  the  larger  fishes,  than  think  of  tak- 
ing the  life  of  the  one  by  pursuit  in  the  chase  or  the  other  by 
the  artful  casting  of  the  sportsman's  fly. 

If  the  chase  is  such  a  degrading  factor  in  the  upbuilding 
of  national  character,  then  must  ]\Ierry  England  be  one  of  tlie 
most  degraded  countries  in  the  world,  for  nowhere  in  the  world 
is  the  chase  so  universally  indulged  in  by  all  classes,  and  espe- 
cially by  the  most  intelligent,  courteous  and  refined  people, 
as   in   Great   Britain.      As    previously   stated    there    are   in 


Tin-  Marqni.s  dc  Chamhraifs  Iloumh  300 

England,  Ireland  and  Scotland  about  four  hundred  and  fiftj' 
organised  jiacks  of  hounds;  two  hundred  jjaeks  are  for  the  chase 
of  the  fox,  one  hundred  and  ninety-eight  packs  for  the  chase  of 
the  hare  and  the  remaining  number  are  devoted  to  the  chase 
of  the  stag,  the  wild  red  deer  and  the  otter.  ]Many  of  these 
packs  hunt  four  and  five  days  a  week  throughout  the  entire 
season. 

Among  the  followers  of  the  chase  in  England,  as  in  France 
and  Germany,  are  the  nobility  from  the  lloyal  family  down. 
In  England  they  are  the  members  of  the  House  of  Lords  and 
the  House  of  Commons  almost  to  a  man;  the  officers  of  the 
army  from  the  commander-in-cluef  to  the  lowest  subaltern; 
the  Judiciary,  from  the  Chief  Justice  to  the  village  pettifog- 
ger; doctors  of  divinity   and  doctors  of  medicine. 

Not  only  is  the  chase  followed  by  the  aristocracy  and 
wealthy  classes  of  England,  but  the  spirit  of  the  chase  pervades 
every  mother's  son  and  daughter  of  the  Kingdom.  If  there 
is  any  single  characteristic  that  dominates  all  classes  in  Eng- 
land, it  is  the  spirit  of  the  chase  and  sports  afield.  The  former 
is  but  a  continuation  of  the  latter  when  the  school  and  college 
days  are  over. 

Little  England  instead  of  being  a  backward,  demoralised, 
barbarous  country,  has  led  the  world  as  an  educator  and 
civiliser.  She  has  accomplished  more  in  these  lines  to  the 
present  time  than  all  the  rest  of  the  world  combined. 

As  for  the  chase  making  people  think  and  act  in  a  brutal 
or  unsportsmanlike  manner,  as  some  w^ould  incline  us  to  think, 
where,  in  the  history  of  any  other  nation  or  people  can  be  found 
such  consideration,  such  Christian-like  conduct  as  has  always 
been  sho^ii  by  the  English  for  their  enemies  in  battle  and  to 
their  foes  when  vanquished.  In  these  respects  Great  Britain 
has  ever  been  in  the  lead  of  the  world.  If  the  English  have 
one  virtue  that  outshines  all  others,  one  national  trait  that  dis- 
tinguishes them  above  all  others,  it  is  their  inherent  love  for 


310       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

domestic  animals.    Are  these  the  signs  of  a  degenerate,  brutal 
race? 

It  may  be  argued  that  while  all  that  has  been  said  hereto- 
fore is  perfectly  true  and  consistent  with  well  known  facts, 
still  there  remains  the  death  of  an  innocent  creature.  If  that 
could  be  eliminated  from  the  chase  altogether,  or  if  their  taking 
off  could  be  robbed  of  its  cruel  feature,  as  many  good  people 
view  it,  the  horror  of  the  chase  would  be  less  a  rei^roach,  so 
that  the  more  sensitive  could  endorse  it.  First  as  to  eliminat- 
ing the  hunt  altogether  from  the  chase,  this  is  done  in  many 
cases  where  a  trail  is  laid  by  someone  dragging  a  rag  sprinkled 
with  anise  oil  and  assafoetida  on  the  ground.  This  is  better 
than  no  chase  at  all.  Others  hunt  the  wild  fox  without  stop- 
ping their  earths  and  therefore  seldom  catch  one.  This  fox 
who  kills  our  chickens  and  young  lambs,  the  otter  who  kills 
our  finest  trout,  are  most  ideal  game.  For  they  are  thieves 
and  vagabonds,  and  one  always  feels  in  their  pursuit  that  an 
outlaw  is  before  him  and  when  at  last  he  is  overtaken,  that  the 
untimely  death  of  Mrs.  Farmer's  hens  or  INIr.  Farmer's  trout 
has  been  avenged.  Some  people  who  sanction  the  hunting  of 
the  fox  often  draw  the  line  at  rabbits,  wild  boar  and  deer.  On 
many  occasions  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  kill  off  a  certain 
portion  each  year  as  already  shown,  and  all  game  preserves  are 
hunted  on  that  plan,  the  oldest  stag  always  being  taken  except 
when  this  plan  does  not  keep  them  doAvn  to  a  number  the 
preserve  will  carrJ^  Then  the  females  are  also  taken.  Still 
there  is  the  question  of  taking  life  that  stands  in  the  way  of 
some  good  meat-eating  people  who  have  probably  never  made 
a  study  of  the  hunted.  They  do  not  know,  perhaps,  that  the 
Providence  wliich  permits  each  family  to  prey  on  some  othep 
family  or  to  be  preyed  upon  by  some  stronger  family,  has 
included  in  the  plan  a  special  provision  for  robbing  death  of 
its  horrors  and  even  of  its  sting.  People  with  oversensitive 
imaginations  picture  to  themselves  the  horrors  of  such  a  death 


The  Marqiii.s  dc  Chamhraifs  Hounds  .'311 

from  tlieir  own,  not  the  animals  standpoint,  and  make  out  a 
veiy  blood  ciirdlino-  case.  But  the  trutli  is  that  most  domestic 
animals  sutler  more  by  being  caught  by  a  hired  man  for  any 
jiurpose  whatever  than  does  a  wild  animal  that  is  pursued  to 
its  death. 

This  provision  of  animal  economj^  might  be  questioned  if 
it  did  not  likewise  apply  to  man,  who,  when  he  is  in  turn  pur- 
sued, or  when  spriuig  upon  by  wild  animals,  experiences  the 
same  sensation.  There  are  any  number  of  instances  on  record 
where  men  have  been  pounced  u])on  by  wild,  ferocious  animals, 
and  who  have  escaped  with  their  lives  by  the  timely  aid  of  a 
friend  or  guide.  Those  invariably  tell  us  that  when  the  final 
moment  came  all  sense  of  fear  and  danger  left  them  and  the 
horror  of  death  had  no  sting  whatever.  They  have  recorded 
afterwards  how  they  saw  the  panther  lash  his  tail  and  work  his 
claws  preparatory  to  the  spring.  Still  their  mind  was  in  ])er- 
fect  composure.  They  had  in  one  instant  passed  beyond  the 
horrors  of  death  and  the  sense  of  fear.  They  report  also  hav- 
ing experienced  the  shock  and  the  tearing  of  the  flesh,  but  felt 
no  pain  or  discomfort  until  afterwards,  when  their  normal 
faculties  retin-ned. 

JNIen  in  battle  do  the  coolest  things,  acts  that  pass  for  hero- 
ism and  bravery,  when  the  truth  is  they  have  simply  passed 
beyond  the  state  where  they  sense  their  positions.  3Ien  and 
women  under  conditions  of  sufficient  importance  do  heroic 
acts,  the  recollection  of  which  makes  them  faint  away  after- 
wards. It  is  the  same  unfailing  provision  of  nature  that  steps 
in  at  the  right  moment  in  the  lives  of  the  hunted,  especially 
when  taken  by  pursuit  consistent  \\\i\\  the  creative  plan,  and 
carries  them  past  the  taking  off  point  without  a  Jiang.  The 
writer,  as  before  stated,  believes  that  it  hurts  a  domestic  animal 
more  to  catch  it  for  any  purpose  than  it  does  for  the  hunted 
stag  to  be  pursued  to  his  death. 

I  do  not  think,  for  instance,  the  stag  whose  death  the  writer 


312        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

described  in  this  chapter  had  the  slightest  fear.  He  simply 
realised  the  moment  had  come  and  faced  the  conditions  without 
a  quiver,  head  erect  and  eyes  that  saw  all  that  was  going  on. 
This  stag  had  been  fleeing  from  real  and  imaginary  enemies 
from  the  day  of  his  birth,  so  that  the  mere  act  of  being  pursued 
or  fleeing  for  safetj^  was  second  nature.  He  practised  all  the 
craft  of  the  race  as  his  instinct  taught  liim  with  a  clear  head 
and  a  cool  judgment  and  finally  when  it  did  not  prove  to  his 
advantage  as  it  had  on  all  former  occasions,  he  accepted  the 
fall  and  died  in  liis  tracks  without  fear. 

To  the  writer's  mind,  there  is  no  way  or  form  of  taking 
wild  game  animals  that  is  so  sportsmanlike,  so  human,  and  at 
the  same  time,  so  consistent  with  their  natural  environment,  as 
to  take  them  in  pursuit. 

AVhat  have  we  in  America  to  compare  with  the  chase  in  the 
upbuilding  of  the  nation  or  of  individual  character?  Perhaps 
the  western  critic  would  suggest  billiards  or  pool  or  poker  amid 
clouds  of  tobacco  smoke  and  the  reeking  odours  of  the  bar, 
in  preference  to  the  degrading  influence  of  the  chase.  He 
might  suggest  croquet;  or  if  that  is  too  fatiguing  for  warm 
days,  he  might  prefer  a  pound  of  candy  and  a  game  of  tiddle- 
de-winks  under  an  electric  fan. 

No,  we  don't  know  how  to  play  in  America.  The  nearest 
most  of  us  come  to  it  after  we  leave  school  and  college  is  to  buy 
a  ticket  to  the  grand  stand  and  shout  ourselves  hoarse  at  a  lot 
of  hired  men  playing  baseball.  It  is,  to  the  writer's  mind, 
nothing  short  of  a  national  calamity  that  we  have  no  game,  like 
the  chase,  suitable  for  men.  We  are  by  this  so-called  liigher 
civilisation,  to  which  the  critic  points  with  so  much  pride, 
degenerating  in  build,  lacking  in  endurance,  stamina,  courage, 
nerve,  health,  nearly  everytliing  except  book  learning  that 
goes  to  the  up-building  and  perpetuity  of  a  noble  race.  What 
schooling  have  we  in  this  country  to  make  a  true  sportsman  of 
a  boy?    Almost  nothing.    He  will  certainly  not  acquire  it  in  an 


The  Marquis  dc  Chambrat/'s  Hounds  313 

American  scliool  or  c()lk'n,c  cxcc])t  in  a  vague  sort  of  a  way, 
for  as  we  ha\e  already  slio\\n  only  about  one  college  boy  in 
twelve  goes  in  for  field  sports. 

We  may  grant  that  it  is  too  bad  that  even  a  chicken-thief 
fox  or  an  old  stag  should  contribute  his  life  to  this  uj)building, 
but  they  are  only  a  drop  in  the  bucket  compared  with  the  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  that  are  butchered  daily  for  the  upbuilding 
of  our  i)hysical  natures.  And  of  the  two  we  do  not  think  it 
too  much  to  say  that  a  day's  ride  to  hounds,  even  if  the  life  of 
dumb  animals  taken  in  the  chase  pays  the  price,  will  do  more 
for  the  bodily  upbuilding  of  the  followers  than  all  the  butchered 
meat  that  the  same  number  of  ])ersons  will  consume  for  the 
day. 

It  may  be  argued  by  some  who  approve  of  the  healthful 
exercise  of  horseback  riding,  but  who  will  not  tolerate  the  chase 
of  a  dumb  animal,  that  a  person  might  ride  fifteen  to  fifty 
miles  four  or  five  days  a  week  on  the  highway  in  lieu  of  the 
chase;  hut  they  tcon't.  A  person  might  walk  five  to  twenty 
miles  a  day  on  the  highway,  as  many  do  in  the  chase  of  a  ball 
on  a  golf  course,  but  they  won't  and  probably  couldn't  if  they 
Avould.  Some  claim  they  can  follow  a  golf  ball  all  the  after- 
noon with  less  fatigue  than  a  walk  of  a  few  blocks  for  the  sake 
of  walking. 

Returning  to  the  horseback  rider,  he  might  be  permitted  to 
take  some  dogs  along  for  company  and  make  his  horse  jump 
a  few  fences  and  ditches  by  way  of  supplying  added  interest 
to  riding  for  exercise.  He  might  also  indulge  his  hunting 
instincts  by  riding  through  a  few  coverts  with  a  view  of  starting 
or  seeing  some  game.  He  might  do  all  these  things,  hut  he 
won't. 

No,  there  is  still  lacking  that  incentive  so  essential  to  last- 
ing enjoyment:  the  indescril)able  something  that  produces  un- 
flagging interest,  is  still  missing.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  jjlain 
to  anvone  that  the  followers  of  the  chase  grow  and  thrive  bv 


314        The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

what  they  feed  upon.  Men  and  women  crowd  to  the  covert 
side  year  after  year,  through  youth,  manhood  and  old  age, 
principally  to  see  how  one  more  riddle  of  the  chase  will  unravel. 

It  is  just  at  this  point  that  some  well  meaning  people  are 
led  astray  in  condemning  the  chase.  They  argue  that  the 
element  which  leads  on  the  followers  of  the  chase  must  be  the 
act  of  kilhng  something.  They  straightway  condemn  the  chase 
as  a  relic  of  barbarism  and  the  followers  as  blood-tliirsty  men 
and  women,  who  have  not  felt  the  effects  of  a  higher  civilisation, 
in  which  the  critics  see  themselves.  Nothing  could  be  further 
from  the  truth.  So  far  as  the  riders  are  concerned,  the  death 
of  the  animal  hunted  is  the  incident,  not  the  object,  of  the 
chase.  If  this  were  not  the  case,  one  would  hardly  expect  to  see 
a  hundred  men  and  women  banding  together  with  a  hundred 
hounds  for  a  hundred  hard  days'  work  in  the  season,  on  the 
chance  of  killing  one  hundred  foxes,  employing  in  the  mean- 
time a  hundred  men  to  look  after  a  thousand  horses  worth  a 
million  dollars.  No,  a  hundred  cents  worth  of  paris  green  in 
the  hands  of  a  hired  man,  or  a  single  steel  trap  in  the  hands 
of  a  poacher,  would  do  the  Idlling  far  more  effectually. 

By  uniting  in  the  chase  the  elements  of  war,  with  but  little 
of  its  risk  and  hardships,  to  the  ardour  of  hunting  with  all  its 
woodcraft  and  cunning,  you  have  as  the  result  the  most  interest- 
ing, the  most  fascinating,  the  most  healthful  game  that  was 
ever  invented  by  man. 

While  the  chase  is  the  "image  of  war  without  its  guilt,"  it 
calls  for  the  expression  of  nearly  every  manly  virtue.  It  gives 
to  the  youth  courage,  self  control,  nerve,  health,  and  strength. 
It  leaves  no  stain  but  that  comes  off  in  the  wash.  It  gives  to 
manhood,  hardihood,  resolution,  and  perseverance  that  carries 
him  on  to  \'igorous  old  age. 

And  so  it  has  come  to  pass  that  there  are  to-daj^  thousands 
of  men  and  many  women,  fifty,  sixty,  seventy,  and  even  eighty 
years  of  age,  riding  to  hounds  over  some  of  the  roughest  hunt- 


The  Marquis  dc  Chamhraji's  Hounds  315 

ing  countries,  riding  hard  for  forty  and  fifty  years  after  many 
Americans,  who  see  themselves  in  the  "advanced"  civihsed  Hst, 
have  shot  their  bolts  and  tumbled  into  premature  graves 
simply  because  they  had  no  chase  to  follow,  exce])t  the  chase 
after  money,  which  is  too  often  the  only  one  the  American 
knows.  In  i)ursuing  this,  he  is  generally  overtaken  and  killed 
by  it,  with  half  of  his  days  unnumbered. 

Long  live  the  chase,  to  make  men  better  fitted  to  live  and 
enjoy  hfe  as  it  goes.  Long  live  the  chase,  to  teach  men  how 
to  play  and  how  to  play  fair.  Long  live  the  chase,  to  make 
men  stronger  in  mind,  and  healthier  in  body,  and  to  enable 
them  to  live  their  allotted  dsys.  Long  live  the  chase,  that  the 
followers  may  transmit  to  the  generations  to  follow  the  noble 
virtues  of  a  hardy  race  of  mascidine  men  and  feminine  women. 
Long  live  the  chase! 


Marquis  dc  Clmnibray's  Hunt  Button 


"For  so  do  we  know  it,  the  Chase,  and  we  hold 
Men  better  for  hunting;  the  creed 
Of  love  and  good  fellowship  lives  as  of  old 
And  binds  every  class  into  one  sacred  mould. 
Long,  long  may  it  live  and  succeed." 

Poems  in  Pink. 

XXIX 

RIDE,  FAIR  AMERICAN:  ENGLISHISIAN,  RIDE 

The  following  poem  was  especially  written  for  "The  Hunt- 
ing Field  With  Horse  and  Hound"  by  that  charming  poet- 
huntsman  and  JNIaster  of  Hounds,  INIr.  W.  Phillpotts  Williams, 
in  recollection  of  a  glorious  day  with  the  Hursley  hounds. 

Come  and  III  tell  you,  I'll  tell  you  a  story, 
You  who  love  England  and  hold  her  so  dear. 

You  who  are  proud  of  her  record  of  glory, 
Lend  me  a  moment  and  lend  me  an  ear. 

Down  in  the  vale  where  the  sunlight  was  streaming. 
Right  in  the  heart  of  broad  England  we  met, 

By  the  old  bridge  where  the  river  was  gleaming, 
Down  in  the  village  the  gathering  was  set. 

Thatched  the  long  roofs  of  the  cottages  round  us, 
Broad  was  the  roadway,  and  bright  was  the  green. 

Peaceful  it  looked  and  contented  it  found  us. 
Nowhere  but  England  coidd  boast  such  a  scene. 


Ride,  Fair  American:  Englishman,  Ride  317 

Hark!  There's  a  crack  of  a  whip  at  the  turning. 
Yonder  they  join  us,  "Hounds,  gentlemen,  please" 

Eighteen  sxveet  conple  of  bitches,  all  yearning 
For  the  game  to  begin,  come  up  under  the  trees. 

Sorty  and  true  tdth  an  absence  of  lumber. 

Even  in  stature  with  bone  to  the  feet. 
Each  was  distinct,  yet  a  part  of  the  number. 

Each  was  a  foxhound,  and  all  were  a  treat. 

Strains  from  the  Belvoir  and  Quorn  intcrblended, 
Warwickshire's  fastest,  and  lirocklesby's  best. 

Right  through  the  pack  the  tradition  descended. 
Work  was  the  watchword ,  and  xcork  was  the  test. 

Near  in  the  crowd,  sifting  well  on  their  horses, 
Tico  good  horsemen  stood  still  by  the  way. 

Each  loved  the  chase  and  the  pluck  it  enforces. 
One  was  in  scarlet  and  one  rcas  in  grey. 

He  in  the  pink  icas  an  Englishman,  leading 
The  life  of  a  sportsman  and  true  to  his  creed. 

Born  of  the  best,  and  a  type  of  his  breeding. 
Master  of  hounds  and  part  of  his  steed. 

He  in  the  grey  was  from  over  the  ocean. 

Born  in  America,  bred  in  the  West, 
Keen  for  a  hunt,  he'd  a  very  good  notion 

Of  riding  to  hounds  with  the  hardest  and  best. 

Hark!  there's  a  note  of  the  horn,  and  a  holloa, 

Reynard  goes  gallantly  over  the  grass. 
Follow  them,  follow  them,  follow  them,  follow, 

Onr^ard  they  galloj),  and  onward  they  pass. 


318       The  Hunting  Field  With  Horse  and  Hound 

Onward  they  gallop,  those  hitches  so  lightly. 
Never  a  hound's  left  behind  in  the  gorse. 

Comely  and  Crafty,  and  Sportive  and  Sprightly, 
Break  at  the  head  of  the  galloping  force. 

Forward  away  where  the  pastures  are  gleaming. 
Set  in  the  heart  of  broad  England  so  fair. 

Forward  away  where  the  sunlight  is  streaming. 
Forward  away  with  the  galloping  jmir. 

Forward  away  for  twelve  miles  they  are  moving. 
Every  hound  up  in  her  place  in  the  pack. 

Every  hound  working,  and  every  hound  proving 
The  worth  of  her  sort  on  the  grass  covered  track. 

What,  have  they  got  him?    Yes,  Nosegay  has  nailed  him. 
Gamely  he  faced  it,  this  fox  in  the  vale; 

One  and  another  they  all  have  assailed  him, 

Tear-him-and-eat-him-hounds.     All  within  hail. 

Who  has  the  brush?    Who  shall  claim  it,  my  inasters? 

He  in  the  scarlet  or  he  in  the  grey? 
Both  went  so  well  and  kept  clear  of  disasters. 

Both  went  their  best  through  the  best  of  the  day. 

Each  has  a  look.    Then  the  Englishman  takes  it. 

Handing  it  over  in  turn  with  a  smile, 
Then  again  touching  the  trophy  he  makes  it 

Clear  that  the  other  is  welcome  the  while. 

Yes,  there  is  soviething  that  baffles  the  telling. 
Men  of  the  chase  will  know  well  what  I  mean. 

Something  too  deep  for  mere  writing  and  spelling, 
Something  mysterious,  something  unseen. 


RidCj  Fair  American:  Englishman,  Hide  319 

Something  that  touches  our  hearts  when  it  finds  us. 

Moving  us  ahcai/s  to  gallop  arid  ride. 
That  brings  out  the  best  of  our  natures  and  binds  us 

Closer'  together,  and  fills  us  u-ith  pride. 

Come  then,  fair  sportsmen  from  over  the  waters. 

Join  in  the  gallop  and  ride  in  the  race. 
Join  in  our  sports  with  ijour  sons  and  your  daughters. 

All  will  find  good  in  the  ways  of  the  chase. 

Come  and  go  on  with  the  march  of  the  nations, 

Like  the  two  sportsmen,  move  on  side  by  side. 
Guided  in  all  by  the  best  aspirations. 
Ride,  fair  American:  Englishman,  ride. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
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